Where the breeze brushes against dreams

"Did they leave the door open?" she whispered, shadows fluttering like moths around her. "Perhaps that's where the stars came in," replied a voice, ancient as the sea's heartbeat, echoing through cracks in time.

"Tell me about the once-upon sea," he said. "It's where stories gather to slumber," the other mused, tracing constellations in the dust with a celestial indifference.

Echoes whisper of the unseen; paths twist beneath veils of absence.

"Sometimes, I feel I am not alone," she sighed, "yet it's only the company of my unspoken thoughts." Silence draped over them, a canvas yet to be painted upon.

"What do maps know?" he asked, eyes glistening with distant places. "Only of what they wish to forget," came the reply, a soft wind scattering the leaves of understanding.