In the fleeting shade between sunset and twilight, memories dance like ephemeral dreams. The skies above, painted in pastel hues of lavender and gold, hold whispers of paths once taken. Each breath a soft echo of who we were in the moments surrendered to history.
Do you remember the last time we watched the horizon split in marbled colors?
We stood at the edge of a world brimming with possibilities, where every choice we didn't make lay waiting like unopened doors to empyrean realms. And there, a gentle wind carried the sounds of distant laughter—perhaps echoes of us, or perhaps phantom voices of lives unlived.
Beyond the visible sky, stars etched their secrets across the expanse, cradling stories of ghosts made tangible through the intimacy of recall. In solitude, we sought to pull those threads tethered to a wistful past.
Not far from here, in the folds of this sky, lies a sepulcher for dreams, where dusk cradles the residue of a younger self.