In the quiet corners of the mind, in the small compartments of seventeen memories, there exists a library of chapters unread. Beneath the brittle cover and yellowing pages, something waits; fragments of laughter and echoes of whispers weave moments of forgotten mornings. Shadows of sound, shrouded in mystery, linger.
Do you remember, as she kindled the sunset with misplaced alightings, how the clock ticked diagonally across an unanswered riddle of time? Pages written in laughter, disappearing like the taste of biscuits left too long in tea.
In the garden untended, amidst the scent of dry rain and worn jasmine, letters lay scattered, like lost songs in the breeze. Each bloom, a mystery; each thorn, a reminder of words unsaid, of stories never told.
Seek elsewhere, traveler, if you desire the truth in its holistic form: Beyond the Veil or Echoes Resounding.