"I had dreamt of us here before," she whispered, covering the distance with footsteps soft as mist, "the pavilion draped in ivy—lace spun by time itself."
Days melted into nights strewn with star-glimmered sighs as our shadows interwove like silk, enveloping the world in a tender symphony only we could hear. Your laughter was wind-chimes at dusk, hauntingly beautiful.
In the courtyard, we danced the spiral of forever—a waltz etched in moonlit dew, leaving echoes in the petals’ sway. The silhouettes of our past selves watched, quietly tethering us to moments that wandered in and out of reach.
I brushed your hand, feeling the warmth seep through like sun on an endless summer’s afternoon, and yet, this place felt like homecoming to a journey half-remembered. There our names carved into the stone whispered secrets older than the stars.
Have you ever spoken to time as if it were a lover, pleading for every second to linger just a heartbeat longer? This garden does that, holding us in a spell of fragrant eternity.