Beneath the lunar glow, shadows entwine in the whispers of forgotten nights. Your name lingers like the echo of a distant melody, a harmony of longing I cannot place. A tear of the past, a smile for the future—these relics are woven into the tapestry of our silent odyssey.
Yet, even in twilight's embrace, there lies an unsolved enigma; the scent of jasmine wafting through corridors of memory, like forgotten letters waiting in a drawer. Each glance steals my breath, searing vision with intricate dances of affection and uncertainty. Is it a dream? Or merely the echo of passion lived?
As morning dew clings to the serpentine shadows, I recall the taste of laughter shared under velvet skies. Your touch, a phantom calling across time, binding our castaway souls in a mosaic of misplaced moments. Who arranges the stars, if not love itself?