Enter, if you dare, to explore the whispers of what once was and the murmurs of what could be.
In the dim-lit corners of an abandoned mind, where musings float like moths to a forgotten flame, there lies a realm of echoes and shadows, a tapestry woven of delicate threads and whispers unbound.
This phantom limb—an extension of the inwardly yearning spirit—caresses the air with gentle touches, tracing arcs in the silence that speak of the once familiar and the ever elusive.
See, the invisible fingers weave a dance upon the surface of dreams, casting reflections of mirages and phantasms that flicker in the twilight of reason’s horizon.
As the portal closes, its edges frayed with the residue of time’s tender touch, we are left with the reverie of what might have been—a silhouette etched upon the canvas of eternity.