Visions of orange streetlights casting elongated shadows, yearning against the creeping mist.
In the corner of a rain-soaked window, murmur of autumn, whisper of time.
That scent, like forgotten daisies in an attic embracing dust motes, warms unspoken tales.
A beneath crimson layers slumbering soul awakes...
The metallic clinks, echoes from a past life, a familiar clamor disrupting peace's brittle shell.
Silhouettes dance in flickering luminescence, bellowing silence, they sing of
the enchanting veracity of dreams, invoking wisps of murky nostalgia swimming ashore.
Impressions vanish before tracing their whispering outlines into the moondrenched pavement.
Limestone walls crumble, succumbing to the brush of gentle currents under waves unseen.
Flickers knitting disjointed memories, like postmarked letters lost and found on
the dusty shelves of time.
Ah, the glow, ever exceptional; but it is not the light you expect.