Upon the reverberations of lost grace, wander the forgotten passages, kaleidoscopic memories halt fleeting. Time unravels, whispering echoes in gentle ripples, a distant shore sings of pale sands once beloved, now cast adrift upon yearning undertows.
The watchtower stands resolute on the crest, abandoned, its once reliable beacon crumbles into dust and fragments of light. Silent sentries, trees that weep vines, embrace twisted billowings of sun-kissed air.
A journal rests unopened, pages yellowed like autumn leaves, ink fading into the soft embrace of oblivion. Yet, in those words, once vibrant, eternity winks, and the voice of a dream calls, bittersweet and gentle, trailing away in postcards written on breaths of the wind.
We step lightly, tracing these contours of memory, where laughter haunts beneath rock and root, echoing into the twilight hour searching, forever searching for what once was home.