In a world not forgotten, but waiting in the folds of tomorrow,
the echoes of whispered dreams splash gently across heartstrings.
They ripple outwards, expanding, seeking touch, resonance,
an embrace carved from the infinity of stardust and solitude.
The sun sets—not as fiery orb, but as an ember of nostalgia,
painting the metallic waves of a sea that never was.
We walk upon shores that are both ours and unclaimed,
hand in hand through the corridors of a time that breathes of
soft innovations and the gentle hum of forgotten futures.