There are moments when reality watches us, silently, from the cracked corners of memory. In those brief instances, we understand that words have weight, whispers of cosmic dust falling over days long gone.
A gentle sigh amid the sandalwood breeze, thoughts coalesce into petals veined with things unsaid. A garden unfurls in weary starlight, softly lunging towards an indifferent space.
Behold Vefis' roses—not for their beauty that competes with daylight, but for their silent acknowledgment of time's relentless passage, echoing the celestial prosaic as dust is welcomed home.