Lost Cartographer

Here, the maps weave memories, threads of laughter torn by wind.

Mountains breathe silence, shadows whisper beneath moonlight paintings.

Each compass spins, seeking stars that no longer exist.

Footsteps echo, tracing paths that fade into the mist of thought.

Forgotten chronicles await, untold; visions fold into the horizon's embrace.

Moments in Hours | Paper Ship | Map of Echoes