Fingers brush past fine grains of forgotten sand—what do they remember from sunlit yesterdays? Amidst the static hum of digital echoes, where is the tender devotion to the touch of reality?
Silver glimmers on the surface of rain-kissed pavements, awaiting soles that tread softly, reverent in their communion with warmth becoming liquid memory, slipping away.
The air holds secrets in its gentle folds, caressing skin, whispering silk stories bound by no time, except when. Threadbare linens cradle whispered dreams of the moon.