In the quiet thrum of dusk, our laughter painted the sky, vibrant tones of longing dipped in stars and moonlight's glow. Where have we danced before, beneath this shivering canopy of dreams? The answer lies in echoes, whispered tales of once, perhaps yet to be again.
Isn't it strange?, how we seem to intertwine like tendrils of smoke, curling around truth's flickering flame. Each moment, a page unwritten in a love letter from one life to the next.
Your eyes hold a mirror to worlds I've wandered, haunted by shadows of your touch. A caress that tingles like the first breath of spring on winter's icy skin, unraveling the known into the vast unknown.
How many times have we pirouetted through this gallery of forgotten selves? I ask the walls, but they only sigh in colors, showing past secrets in their mute, eloquent tongues. Life, a tapestry woven of luminous thread and silken night.
The aroma of your presence lingers, ethereal as morning mist, permeating through the corridors of my soul's sanctuary. Would that I could cling to this feeling, this perfumed whisper of a past embraced too soon.
A crimson thread binds us, invisible yet palpable, sewn into the fabric of our being. It draws across dimensions, stitching silent promises and reverberating vows into the heart's core.
Dive Deeper