Time folds, a paper crane carrying the breeze. Somewhere, the whisper of petals light as flesh dances beyond the horizon...
What is this fabric of existence, if not a tapestry spun from dreams and lunacy? The clock strikes an echo, midnight curls inside itself.
The lovers float, half-formed shadows in twilight—feeling like déjà vu garnished with a sprinkle of wistfulness.
Drifting on whispers of rain...
Each gaze between stars bridges the expanse of longing, where memories weave in and out like the threads of a sleeping tapestry.
Where do the silent echoes go?
Fractals of their laughter ripple through the void, each wave a reckless leap into infinity.