Once upon a midnight dreary in a land where socks rumored grieved for their irretrievable pairs,
lurked the verbose specter of Romantic's Regret.
Silk whispered its secrets as moths conspired in tatters.
Forgotten love, ah, a diaphanous tapestry woven from whispers—silence itself often rollicking in irony.
The jesting moons mock your memos; opened undelivered love letters left sipping tea with shadows.
It beckons with vigor, demanding pitter-patters around the thimble-sized heart, once robust with grandiosity.
Did the hedgehog know when to stop hoarding roses’ secrets, or did it merely get entangled? Insightful,
here lies the divine contradiction vying for one’s attention—interlocking fingers in fate’s knitting needle.