In the velvet gaze of twilight's hush,
where echoes trace the lost and found,
a whisper curls like smoke around
the edge of a half-remembered dream.
Reflections ripple with forgotten words,
haunting the silver tide's embrace.
There lies a face, familiar, strange—
an echo of another time, another place.
Beneath velvet eyes, a shadow weeps,
recounting tales of yesterdays
that linger, like specters in the mist.
Who are we, in this glass-bound waltz?