In the corridors where silence breathes, I wander, tracing shadows of forgotten days. The echoes of laughter ripple across the stillness, fading in and out like whispered secrets held by the wind. Cross over and leave the sun-dappled memory to another life, where every step reverberates through the echo of a time not lost but merely on pause.
Night unfurls its velvet cloak, the stars appear like faint embers, each a distant reminiscence of what once was, or will be. A scene in sepia tinged, a tableau vivant of truths left unsaid. One candle flickering against the draping dark, coats of history embedded in its small flame.
Is it here the forlorn dreams cast their gaze upon this fleeting realm? There, beyond, lies the doorway, the threshold of clandestine paths, shrouded in the quiet embrace of eternity. We walk hand in hand with memories shadowed over with fog, the faint outline of a destiny understated, yet poignant.
Through the bear-trap of ages, in the realm where theory dances with reality's shadow, life seeps in trickles, a reminiscence of Sylvia's forgotten prose, her quivering lines tasting the ashes of unspoken words. Each pause, a reflection, serene and sublime.
Until the dawn shatters the quiet reverie, we find ourselves wrapped in these sublime reflections, floating across a river without shores, watching ripples die like a day’s last breath. And so we blink into permanence’s paradox, forever bound to the transient.