When the moonbeams kissed the silent keys,
She played the song of forgotten whispers,
Each note a lover left unheard,
Woven like ancient threads in a tapestry of night.
Beneath the faded ink of what was,
The letters linger, soft, yearning, aching,
For a world untouched by time,
Reversing melodies, eternal loops of tenderness.
Etched in our shadows, these symphonies
Speak of erased histories and dreams dwelling in seams,
Without beginning, without end, they compose
The rhythm of our secret lives, loved and unloved.