In the languid waltz of the digital butterfly, one must ponder the intricate particles that compose our vast electronic tapestry, whispering secrets in forgotten codes.
Letters unfurl like the petals of a morose flower, blooming once under silhouetting moon, then fading—slipping gently beyond the tome of silence into the void.
Oh, ephemeral lines of prose! You flit about the memory like wayward dust motes in a sunbeam, too delicate to hold, too poignant to forget. Dusk beckons.
To ink the kaleidoscope of dreams upon this screen, a once-tangible reality—recall that which never was.