They whispered secrets lost to the future's embrace,
the ink of ages ready to slip through the fingers of coincidence.
Have you yet touched the edge where memory meets its echo?
Something whispers more than once, brushing along paths already worn,
corners turned in dreams unfolded, yet untouched.
In these realms, stitched from forgotten nightwatch tales,
one senses the ripple of faceless waters,
glinting like a promise delivered elsewhere.
Once more, the stage is set,
the players deft in their borrowed shadows.
Unraveled pages, like delicate whispers,
breathe into this shared space between realities,
where the déjà vu remains as palpable as the scent of autumn rain,
grounding phantom memories—creating realms and stirring echoes.