The whispers dart, like lunar moths upon the dusk ("Tell them I never left", she insisted). Each word a feather lost to the storms of yesternight, drifting upon the currents of our inward seas.
Once, beneath the ancient canopy, I saw the stars devour themselves. And the wind spoke of old secrets, of mirrors unbroken, of fires lit upon forgotten altars.
Darkened windows spill fragments of forgotten dreams onto streets of rain, reflecting not the present but the ghosts of somewhere else—fleeting... ephemeral... eternal.
My thoughts stutter, caught upon the whisper's edge: A vortex of sighs and echoes of laughter, the sparkling cascade of timeless tears.
"She said I was a lie," echoed the little lies with gossamer wings, flitting through the frayed edges of the serendipitous chaos.
Between your lucid dreams, amid the fervent silence, the lunatic murmurs still...