Lastly she spoke of moon nectar, deliciously thick, slipping silver shivers down her spine. Twilight echoed behind her words, silent, yet thunderous in its hollow stillness.
Glimmers of stars were once leaves of celestial trees, whispering promises when they fell. But now, they retract, as if in a dance of acceptance and mystery, sculpted by memories of ancient waltzes.
The sky remembers—moonglows trapped in time like spectral dreams. The bittersweet taste of starlight on one's lips; it sings of jazz from forgotten skies, where every note a longing, a wish unfulfilled.
She reached for the heavens and wrapped her fingers around shadows, painting them with dusk whispers. The world below sighed, hand in hand with the lingering whispers of every dream joyously remembered.