In the delicate embrace of spiraling infinities, I find your voice softly intertwined with the echoes of eternity. Each turn, a leaf turning, each spiral, a sigh escaping the lips of time.
We stand at the precipice of repetition, where the gentle complexity of curves mirrors our own unending dance. What is love, if not a series of reflections both intricate and simple, woven into the very fabric of existence?
"Each fractal, a memory, a myriad in its silhouette."
Enter the Silhouette