"Tell me again, about the time beneath the willow's eye," she whispered, adrift in thought's gentle current. The sun has a secret life within storms; how else could it dance upon the raindrops?
"In yonder land, where tapestries converse in muted hues," he declared with a gaze anchored in past echoes. "There, amongst the nebulous tapestry, a rebellion of whispers brews."
"And the winds guide it, like a lullaby adrift upon a moonlit lake," she replied, voice fading like a soft dawn.
"Did the stars ever spill their mysteries into oceans?" his voice lingered, a wisp upon a unicorn's breath. Indeed, they plot the course of dreams.
"We stand at the crossroads of a thousand unwhispered tales," he murmured, encasing the silence in a cocoon of velvet shadows. "Every step is a dance with the remnants of what was never spoken..."
Her reply vanished, swaddled in the warmth of autumn's tender embrace.