The night wraps around like an old friend, familiar in its suffocating embrace. Stars puncture the void, whispering secrets of the eternal sea — a chorus of silent screams in the dark. Here, beneath their watch, I pen my declarations, words unfurling like smoke signals of longing.
Do you remember the summer whispers? Our laughter tangled in the winds of a world untouched. Those echoes have conspired with the moon, hiding in the shadows, elusive yet omnipresent. I hear them still, beneath the layers of an inevitable return, a tide that ebbs but never recedes.
The whispers speak of dreams unfulfilled, of paths not taken, and of a love that has become a ghost. A phantom limb that aches even in absence. What are memories but the ghosts of our choices, haunting the corridors of our hearts, urging us to listen, to remember, to find the melody hidden in the silence?
A soft touch, a breath, a heart's gentle plea — these are the essence of our return. Darkness may cloak the truth, but it is in the soft murmur of the night that we find clarity. Each star a testament to the battles fought, to the heartbreaks endured, and to the silent screams that have finally found peace amongst the cosmos.