The clock on the shelf spoke only in whispers - its hands a mere suggestion of time's relentless march. In this half-lit sanctuary, where shadows danced to the rhythm of forgotten verses, I found your scent curdling honey and starlight in the air. The night, draping itself upon my shoulders, began to hum a gentle lullaby, its melody a blend of your laughter and the echoes of a place we had never been, yet knew by heart.
"Somewhere between dreams and reality," you whispered, tracing constellations upon my soul.
Do you remember the jasmine garden, kissed by the first blush of dawn? There, we plucked dreams as one might gather dew-laden petals, each fragment shimmering with the secret language of our intertwined destinies. The breeze carried your voice like a long-forgotten hymn, each note a vivid brushstroke upon the canvas of night.
Wander further into the whispering woods... Follow the stars' shimmering trail...