Once it was said, beneath the fallen sun, there bloomed a fragrance untold. Petals invisible, yet vibrant in warmth—casting silhouettes not of absence, but of something eternally desired.
What stories drift upon this unseen wind? The echo of moments kissing horizon's edge, fragments tracing arcs of silent motion.
Perhaps a dream lingers here, binding time with threads made from twilit echoes.
Or forgotten, a whisper calls from beneath the light of alien stars.