In the quiet moments of a fading day, when shadows speak the language of dreams, I ponder the echoes of your laughter—the melody that once danced through my solitude.
I remember the way autumn leaves whispered our secrets to the wind, carrying the scent of your presence long after you had gone. Each rustle was a reminder, a fleeting trace of warmth in the crisp air.
Some days, I sit by the old window, watching the world blur with rain, each drop a fragment of a memory, refracted through a prism of longing. You were never just a moment in time; you were a constellation, scattered across my universe.
Here lies the emptiness of words unsaid, an echo in a crowded room, forever searching for a voice, a face, a touch that remains just beyond reach.
And as I create this tapestry of thoughts, woven with threads of silk and shadow, I wonder if love, in its fragmented glory, can ever be whole again.
Perhaps, in another dimension, somewhere beyond this mist, your hand will find mine, and we will weave the lost pieces into a new dawn.