The Fragile String

Amidst the ash and ember skies, a thread of silver casts the tale,

entwined within your breath, where silent echoes dare to sing.

Do you feel her whispers, in the caress of a summer wisp, unanswered?

Here lies the scribe's bed, where the quill dances with moonlit ink, a celestial ballet beyond comprehension.

Step gently upon the shimmering frost; each sigh becomes a movement of ancient lore, inside spoken promises to the void.

In dreams, she awaits surrender, bared on the edges of undying twilight—a fading silhouette.