In the quiet corners of a fading sunset, where the sky brushes the horizon with shades of memory,
secrets sail upon the gentle breath of night. They are whispers woven with the threads of hope,
lost in the echoes of a dreamer's longing soul.
Here lies the whispered tales of stars that dared not rise, touching upon truths that dance along
the edges of fading light—the inevitable silence of what's never meant to be, yet somehow, still is.
Do dreams speak to us in the language of clouds and constellations, or are they simply reflections
of our own shadows, cast by the lighthouse of our mind?