Beyond the hidden door, the echoes whisper tales
of sunlit gardens wrapped in velvet night,
where the clock ticked backward into silence.
A voice once heard, now misplaced,
murmurs in the language of forgotten dreams,
conjuring shadows that dance on the edge of memory.
Was it you who shaped the rain into figures,
frail and fleeting, vanishing like smoke
into the tapestry of a starlit sea?
And there, the shiver of a door left ajar,
leading to the fading echoes of a tomorrow undefined,
slipping through fingers like grains of sand.
Remember the lane that wound through time,
where paths diverged and converged in a dance
orchestrated by the unseen hand of fate?
Linger here in the spaces between words,
as the memories collage into visions anew,
weaving a narrative known yet unknown.