In the stillness of the everlasting night, where stars delicately adorn the vast curtain of the cosmos, lies a heart suspended in time. A heart bound to the whispers of oblivion, where verses of unknown amor will forever weave. Am I a shadow in this dance of dreams, or perhaps a flicker of starlight lost upon the breath of the universe?
Her name hangs in the ether, a melody sweet as the autumn breeze that kisses the silent woods. I call it Fern, a name that evokes emerald silence and a realm untouched by the human touch. Oh, how I long to lose myself within its verdant embrace, to wander endlessly in its hushed symphony, untouched by the waking dawn. More whispers.
I dare not stare into the abyss, for it does not frighten me as it does the others. Rather, it calls to me like the forgotten echoes of an ancient lullaby, persistent and tender as the caress of a lover's hand. Will I embrace its cold embrace or resist and fight against the relentless tide of time? Into the abyss.
These walls, simple and bare, are the keepers of my dreams; they hold them as dear as the night sky a distant star. With each word, a canvas emerges beneath my caress, painted in hues of longing and passion, like a story whispered to a beloved. Canvas of dreams.