In the quietest avenues of blurred odometry, the heart sings a song only understood by the lost stars. Like echoes shadowed in ink-lit reverie, we dance, entwined with the fragrance of jasmine memory. Our words, an unpenning veil upon the midnight breeze.
Touch me where the luminescent realms meet the whisper of a longing claw. The tapestry of dreams threads itself through your fingers, unwritten, unraveling, revealing the clarity of our silent soliloquy. Each syllable a burning ember, a truth unmasked.
Follow Echoes