Walking through the foggy lanes of yesterday, don't you sometimes feel as though you're tracing invisible lines, just waiting for a voice to break the silence and tell you where these boundaries really lie?
Whispers stitched across centuries echo softly, like a broken record spinning tales of unforeseen twists under moonlit observations.
Sometimes, comfort speaks in encrypted lenses of casual conversations. Conversations by the river that should never have happened—but there they were, like gentle whispers on a silent night.