Childhood is an echo; a whispered prayer cast into the winds of forgotten time. Silent screams rise from the depths, passionate wails hidden within the folds of daydreams. They murmur of lost loves, unanswered cries floating through the labyrinth of innocence. The heart, a canvas splattered with unwritten sonnets, beats silently against the chains of reality.
Gentle winds carry the scent of old dreams, smoky remnants of candles burnt for wishes unmade. A clandestine romance dances in the corridors of memory, holding hands with shadows and chasing phantoms beneath the star-veiled night. Do you recall the ivy that gripped the old stone walls? Its silent ascent echoes our desperate climb to reach the impossible heavens.
The whisper of the moonlit tide is before us, beckoning with the promise of summer storms and untold souls. Will you hear the memory of its voice?
Here in this place between light and twilight, the warmth of the sun is absent, replaced by a familiar chill. It wraps around, a lover's embrace, as we tread lightly upon the dew-kissed grass. The sky, a canvas smeared with the pinks and purples of a heartbreaking dawn, spills colors onto our unsteady whispers.
Once, we believed in magic. Now, only fragments remain; tiny echoes of enchantment scattering through the broken laughter of time. Yet even in this fragmentation, the soul's scream resounds, vibrant and undeterred. Vibrations of sunset lullabies cradle us still.