whisper echoes in the fading light, shadows paint tales in muted whispers, and in the corners of the mind, the dusk hums timeless tunes. listen, though the reverse sings not of harmony but of stories unraveling taut strings:
the melody spoke of yesterdays danced forwards and the moon's quiet grin kissed the stars suspended in a waking dream. words fall like autumn leaves, stories untold unfold in the silent dusk, where melodies pirouette in reverse. some door opens, a path anew,
read not the past, but let the present flow pearlescent and reflected, a pond of memory drifting softly, softly drifting. onward, the journey through twilight, where paths are nothing but echoes of footsteps long forgotten, yet remembered,
as the heart taps its own rhythm, a pulse of ink against the page, and all you see dimly flickers, a candle's last gasp on the tired horizon.