"In a realm spun from the silver threads of starlit abandonment, drowning in ardor and absence," she whispers as they float, weightless, lost to the dizzying embrace of infinite longing.
"If you could hold a comet in your palms, would you let it Seed your heart"? Her question swirls like nebulae; he answers effortlessly, “Only if warmth ignites enough galaxies between us.”
Dare to float to Dreams without Ground
Whispers shall linger, yet Echoes will fade into shadows.
Sometimes we absorb color from love; sometimes we feed it to the wind, wrapped in longing like late blooms in lonesome gardens.