Between the pages of the unwritten, a love letter gathers dust—its ink fading, yet somehow, it whispers.
The moon spills secrets over untamed gardens, where the heart sketches silhouettes of desires yet to bloom.
Your laughter waltzes with the stars, weaving constellations of a dream untold.
Scribbled in margins:
"Do you remember the way the sun dipped over the horizon, painting time in hues of yearning?"
Have we danced in these fragments before, or is this our first pas de deux on a cosmic parchment?
Our souls trace paths across the sky, leaving behind trails of our shared moments.
Let time be the canvas upon which our love is drawn, one delicate doodle at a time.