In the atrium of my heart, where echoes harmonize with silence,
a tapestry woven with threads of forgotten whispers awaits.
Each strand holds a secret—unvoiced murmurs, glances exchanged under dimming stars, a soft gasp caught in the fold of time.
The world beyond trembles, yet here, we dance in the shadows of what could be—
an embrace of dreams, a union forged in the fabric of night.
Write to me, not with ink, but with the light of your soul, my clandestine muse.
For in our silence, we speak the loudest.