The air around us thickens like honey, the golden filaments binding one soul to another, weaving their fates into an intricate tapestry of murmurs. Whisper: “Do you hear the song of the stars, the melody echoing from beyond the veils of existence?"
Eyes locked, two wanderers in a dream, lost not in sleep's embrace, but in the skin-deep understanding that neither brings words, nor seek explanations. A conversation spoken only by the gentle movements of hands, theatrical gestures directing an idea neither can name.
Beyond this realm of silence, lies the crescendo unknown; our hearts the harbingers of sensations we dare not disentangle. Let it be so, let it be known, let it be whispered through the ticking hours of this ephemeral night.