The souls spun webs of forgotten dusk as stars peeled their melancholic serenade. Drift on Mistral winds, where tales linger in spirals of whispered eternities...
Looming punchlines lost in the space between vignettes. Do you taste the silence of auroras painting night skies with spectral grace?
An amber realization—time is a fragile flame in the lantern of moments. Every breath a captured bell tolling over aeons. Are they not sweet tomorrows?