In the quietude of a splintered dawn, when the shadows clutch the remnants of night, the echo of our laughter washes ashore. The gentle caress of a new day whispers secrets woven in celestial cartography, binding our fates under an eternal gaze. Time, like a mischievous tide, ebbs and flows, yet some moments resist its pull, anchored to the heart.
In our stolen rendezvous, where gravity bends to the will of our entwined desires, every heartbeat is a universe waiting to be born. There lies an ardor in the way your fingers trace constellations on my skin, illuminating the dark expanses of my soul. These are galaxies spinning in an orbit defined solely by the boundaries of our passion.
The sun dips below the horizon, indifferent to our plight, as we find solace in our sanctuary of whispered dreams and fleeting touches. Here, time is but a servant, weaving tapestries of reminiscences that slip through our fingers like grains of sand. And yet, in this ephemeral realm, we etch our names upon the stars, defiant against the inevitable wash of time.