In the garden of endless dawn, where petal meets dew, a silent symphony unfolds. Each blink of a blossom is a whispered secret, a tender echo of knots woven in time.
Here lie the paradoxes of love; where distance is the gentle brush of a breeze, it caresses, yet it never fully embraces. The rhythm of the blossoms is akin to two hearts adrift in the same sea, longing, yet free.
The crimson hues of roses twist in the faded sun, a tightening, loosening truth. And violets, they echo the sound of soft goodbyes, glimmering like the subtle knots of dawn's tapestry. Do you not see? Their dance is a lullaby of bittersweet faraway lands.
Their song:
Do they align? The plans woven yet unbidden by hands unseen. Follow the paths to other stories, other gardens: