In the twilight haze, dreams fragment, dissolving like whispers in the wind.
Along a cobblestone path, shadows greet the evening mist—silent, unyielding.
Here, the echoes of laughter linger, painted in hues of forgotten memories,
fading like old photographs buried beneath autumn leaves.
The clock tower strikes an hour that no one remembers, yet the chime resonates
through the hollow corridors of time. An opera's aria carries through the
ether, sung by voices unseen—cascades of sound woven with strands of silk
and echoes of tears shed beneath a waning moon.
Numerous doors stand ajar, entrances to realms untouched and presences unseen.
They mumble promises spelled out in half-light, navigating through the rilles
carved into the fabric of dusk. Veils ripple into the corners of the mind,
breath against breath, soft caresses upon the fabric of reality.