Whispers of forgotten ballets,
Every note a palimpsest, penned over the scars of memory,
Fragmented laurel leaves, resting gently upon silence.
It might have been a talk upon fading watercolors,
Scribblings on the edge of time.
The laughter of a life half-remembered,
Words entwined with shadows,
A balustrade of velvet snowflakes falling,
Conversations from the edge,
Stitched right through the tapestry of twilight.