The breeze caresses forgotten autumn leaves, whispering tales through undulating shadows, of moments suspended, where time morphs into a gossamer shroud, entwining visions like vines clutching an ancient stone.
In translucent chambers of memory, laughter echoes lightly above sand-like grains, each sound dissolving silently, like a phantom extinguishing its last ember—unraveling itself — beneath the twilight sky.
What does it mean to glimpse a thought, like a moth drawn to darkness? Finding echoes of bygone glances, strained yet threaded with warmth, a longing etching intricate patterns on the skin of recollection.
Is a silence heavy with meaning, distilling the essence of absence? Buried within dusty box luminescent, waiting for eyes to pry open visions — untouched, unscathed, yearning yet quiet, nestled in bone and marrow.