The moon casts silver shards upon whispered longings — tangled in midnight's embrace, such wild notions of forgotten dreams drink the starlight's lament.
"Where are you, beloved? The whisper echoes in a room full of shadows, and the heart... oh the heart it shudders, beckoning another world."
A cascade of thoughts trailing gardenias, footprints pressed into sandy shores, into the water, a swan gliding seamlessly, representing the inner symphony of wanting, yearning. Wanted — the yearned — the chase, the fleeting taste of reverie that sears into the very fabric of your endless nights.
The cafés in Paris, spilled ink across old wooden tables, letters unsent with perfumed edges, and right there, the conflating odors of roasted chestnuts and early autumn rain. Eyes catch fire in this world — ephemeral and real.