In the shimmering corridor of the heart, where echoes dance like flecks of gold, I stumbled upon a conversation fragment: "Do you remember the autumn sky when it tasted like honey?" she asked quietly, her voice a gentle caress against the ancient walls.
A soft chuckle responded from the shadows, "Only a taste could understand the longing it carried." His spectral form flickered at the edges, as if woven from tales of old.
"But can the sky remember?" a new voice whispered, akin to the rustle of autumn leaves over forgotten paths. The words melted into the air like a scene from a waking dream.
Whispers of Distant Lands Forgotten Ports