Within the confines of shadow, reminisce when the glow was faint, and everything whispered secrets; secrets tender and echoing, like the dew's shimmering edge in fugitive dawn.
Light dances here, tender and fleeting; an apparition captured in glass and twilight folds. The mind, swamped in nocturnal eyelash curtains, waits, suspended. Is it grave or joyful, that forgotten dance?
Feel the compass spin aimlessly while the heart maintains its silence, folding infinite paths into the blur. Between these passages of clarity, swirling lambent veils, borrow a drops whisper from these amber-lit dreams:
Perhaps there are echoes that counsel lanterns tread on softened toes. Perhaps there is solace in the dim deep, yet left forsaken; awakening in earthen cradle against time.
And the shadows stretch and yawn, as murmured rain remembers all the stories the stars can or cannot weave.