In the stillness of twilight, when the moon hugs the horizon tightly, shadows swirl, weaving tales unforeseen. Written are the stories of yore, beneath the silver-laden trees, where ink is drawn from lost smiles. Can you hear the echoes of forgotten lullabies?
Once a figure waltzed through dreams, pressing ephemeral kisses on sleeping brows. They drifted softly, wearing the whispers of the ancients woven into their shadow. And the heart, tremulous, held tight to echoes of a memory vast and unfathomable.
Each blink of starlight reveals a tale of sorrow stitched between notes of clarity. The lullabies beckon, such haunting rhythms beckoning forth the lost’ yet offering not a breath of tangible honesty.