In the shadowed alcoves of passion's palace, I found your voice: a tender murmur lost to time, like waxen whispers entrapped in fading canvases. Did the stars guide me here, through corridors of forgotten dreams, to seek out paths woven with your sigh?
The mirrors, twisted and grand, held not the face of time but the spirit of eternity, reflecting a silhouette that danced on the edge of reality alike. Through these glass tales, did you not once reach out, tracing constellations upon my soul in silvery ink?
Echoes unwound—they spiraled, often forgotten yet haunting every breath—beneath arches adorned with the memories of moonlit serenades. Here, amidst the echoes, the shadows of what was become fragile flames, flickering just for us.
Shall we etch anew this clandestine waltz, beneath the stars already old by our gestures? Walk into this dawn or dare to venture those tales again?