In the quiet folds of nocturnal embraces, where secrets whisper through alleys of time, once the cosmos conspired in sighs.
Inception was a delicate plot etched above, each star a reflection of passion untold.
Lovers tread paths, hands barely grazing, echoing whispers carried by the night breeze and gathered dew.
The moon knows these trails all too well—ancient truths whispered soft against silence.
Retrace, gentle heart, each tender blow reshapes the map between constellations.
What stars would say, if dared to listen.
"So many lifetimes within a heartbeat, not lost, only scattered like autumn's kin," whispered the wind.
Follow the whispers