In the shadowed alcove of forgotten memories, where phantoms are stitched into the fabric of stillness, an echo murmurs. It is but a tender wisp, a serenade of time imbued with azure light. Gossamer feelings fold into the silken folds of the half-remembered, clinging to the vestiges of existence. From the starlit void, dreams unfurl like rippling tapestry, echoing the soft cry of a thousand whispered truths.
Beneath the archways of silence, where the stars shudder in their cosmic slumber, I unearthed thoughts — relics of a time immemorial. Each thought a fossil, encased in layers of dream and time, echoes back in hues of lavender and gold. The ground, a bed of stars, breathes softly as the winds of memory sweep through the corridors of the past.
Here, amidst the quietude, lies the soft thrum of echoing dreams. They resonate in the still, cloaked in the soft night’s grace, a gentle crescendo of celestial whispers. Silence lingers, a silent guardian over the undiscovered realms of the heart, where dreams remember themselves in a dance of shadow and light.