In the often still corners of our silent lives, quiet echoes dance unseen upon the fingertips of our lifted musings, poised to weave softly, narratives untold.
The moon cast bright shadows on the dunes and even in its reflected light, there existed a whisper, only heard by the mind accustomed to observing pauses.
Remember that evening when we stood beneath the stars, voices beneath tidal bacteria, nudged by intrigue, subtle as the skimming breeze that kissed our backs chilled by twilight?