In the twilight of forgotten laughter, the carousel turns silently. Each phantom whisper echoes in the corridors of imagination, stirring flickers of moments untold.
The air is thick with the scent of spun sugar, breadcrumbs of romantic endeavors left to linger. As the heart races with fervent anticipation, silhouettes dance beneath the arcades, weaving tales of yesteryear.
"Your footsteps are the poetry of my nights," whispered the unspoken words, retold by the voice of an unseen specter.
The ferris wheel stands stoic against a canvas of deepening hues, rotating from side to side, embracing the heavens. It dreams of the whispers shared in its embrace, a silent sentinel of lovers who once were.
In search of ethereal echoes...The rhythmic stirring of the carousel weaves a tapestry, each ride a passage through the longing of past lives intertwined. An endless circulation bound in time's gentle embrace.
Phantom Dance