In the fog of yesterday's shadows, a soft echo murmurs, "You have walked here before." The path, laced with the amber hue of an eternal sunset, bends as time waltzes with the unseen.
Gentle ripples in the lake of unsaid words, where visions untold gather like tempest-tossed dreams, swirling and weaving a tapestry of nostalgia.
Beneath the whispers of the grove, a silent constellation lies buried. Each star a forgotten promise, each void a sigh that unmade the universe in a moment of blissful malcontent.
Join the unseen tale, where every thread pulled from the loom is a whisper curling back into the dream, reaching through the mist for hands that once held stars in their palms.