Elude the drumming heart of noon, where echoes of conversation— suspended between the air and invisible ink—this gilded page beckons you to remember what was never written.
Coursing through silken strands, the tapestry whispers tales of gentle treason. Seek the vacant alcove, where voices spin their solitary sonnets, encased in bouquets of lavender dreams.
Ponderous the hours drift, like boats unmanned upon a sea of stars, yet yearning never ceases amid these heart-string melodies.