In the hushed echoes of forgotten rooms, where dust settles like the weight of memories, I stumbled upon fragments of us—soft whispers caught in the fabric of time.
What is love, if not an unearthing of long-buried hopes, shimmering like the gleam of ancient fossils beneath layers of everyday silence?
Between the spaces of breaths, your laughter dances like the rippling surface of a forgotten pond, each note a tidal wave pulling me under, deeper into reflection.
Did we drift like leaves in autumn's whisper, or was it the passion of storms unseen that scattered us in all directions—without map or compass?
Click to hear a whisper from the past...