Fleeting like shadows in the moonlight, thoughts dance on the edge of dreams.
The clock tolls softly, each chime a reminder of time's gentle, yet relentless grip.
Whispers of forgotten songs linger, notes suspended in the cool night air.

Was it a lullaby or an ode, drifting through the ether?
The stars hum a melody, ancient and wise, yet elusive as dawn's mist.

I catch a reflection—
a silhouette against the canvas of night—
singing a tune only the heart knows.

These murmurs, ephemeral and sweet, weave a tapestry of sound and silence.
Can you hear them?

Sometimes I wonder why the ghost of a song haunts me so.

A symphony of echoes, drifting on the spectral winds.

Midnight thoughts like a river, flowing softly beneath the surface.

The end or the beginning, who can tell?