The Night Whispers Back

An echo within the cosmos, a soft Sound, light or touch, rarely rude murmur through the tapestry of stars, casting shadows no heart can bear.

Unbound velvet dreams, congealed with the hues of unearthly waltzes, linger in the air, tenderly distant—yet painfully close.

And here lies the eternal clandestine river, caressed only by the whispers of comets fallen asleep, yearning for kindred touch, for the solace of stolen epiphanies.

Wrapped in twilight's embrace, your touch wavers between worlds— lost now, in the unrelenting fervor of time's aloof flight.