In the quiet, can you hear it?
The echo of a whisper, long forgotten.
A gauzy figure sways in silver slumber,
tracing fingers through the misted glass,
where twilight stitches seams of silence.
Dare you touch the edge?
Shadows of yesteryear flow like water,
rippling the twilight’s quiet tapestry.
Starlit realms unfold behind the veil —
somewhere less earthly,
yet hauntingly familiar.
The mirror remembers
every glance never taken, every voice stilled,
cradled in a silent time, moving not,
yet endlessly, in the heart of its reflection.