In those hazy hues, dreams drip languid; the echo of one's own breath reverberates from aged tomes.
Remembering, ever-remembering — moments kaleidoscopic yet familiar burn within the ephemeral dusk.
A garden carved into twilight whispers covenants with soft-spoken winds, carrying tales never read, eternally printed onto the fabric of perception.
Allow yourself the grace of languor through these lanes of silver rain. Placid waters reflect memories
not entirely your own, forging connections with echoing arches and shimmering glass.
Wander further onward, paths wreathed in murmurs beckon. Could one succumb to fascination?
Surely, an inevitable intoxication with woven tales laid bare by variegated prisms unseen.