In the garden of forgotten echoes, petals whisper secrets of a thousand suns.
Beneath the watchful gaze of the crescent moon, shadows dance in the language of the ancients.
The clock forgets its duty, as moments dissolve like sugar in a cup of warm lavender tea.
Abyssal tides, swelling and receding, sing hymns to the stars in a dialect lost to man.
In the void, the silence breathes, an eternal waltz of emptiness, cradle of unformed dreams.
Here, words unfurl like fragile wings, longing to take flight on the currents of thought.
Ephemeral Whispers Echoes of Shadows Reflections in the Abyss