In dunes of golden silence, where shadows play in the twilight,
ephemeral silhouettes whisper tales of forgotten echoes.
Once, the wind spoke to me, an ancient language wrapped in grains of time,
casting reflections on moments never lived but lingered on the edge of dreams.
Is the sky we cling to tethered, or do its fibers unravel beneath starlit breaths?
Questions remain, shadows untouched by light, becoming, never belonging.