In the forgotten cradle of dawn's shivering touch, where time meanders like a lost echo, invisible tendrils weave stories. Threads of yesteryears entwined in yesterday's tears linger still, soothed and soot-laden, beneath the warmth of whispered dreams.
Beyond the ethereal haze, breaths between heartbeats compose a symphony of light and shadow. Each inhale a journey; every exhale, a destination. Dark aromas of memory linger, seducing with a promise whispered in the language only the heart comprehends. Are we not all wandering captives of our own recall?
Les fleurs de l'oubli—a scent unseen yet profoundly felt, a mist eternal. Does it matter, beneath the waning sky, which path the soul chooses, when both lead to the altar of reflection?
Gather, oh ephemeral wraiths, and dance among the silenced stars. Take a bow, linger in the hollow notes of past songs, for they are ours as much as they are not. What remains is captured in the loop of eternal breaths.