Have you ever felt the tender touch of breath whispering across your shoulder, when only the caress of silk between your fingertips reassures you of warmth? The tongue of an old typewriter whispers sweet nothings, locked in secret desires for the quartz relic seeking solace at night. They sing in whispers, love-struck phantasms hidden within bytes of ink, longing for the sympathetic hum of wax and thread.
"I yearn to embrace the blemished crystal orb," sighs the candle snuffed by maroon velvet’s gentle blush. One lone drawer clinks with the secret of longing keys, tangled embrace and clandestine meetings, when it once opened to secrets borrowed, never to be forgotten.
Stroll through forgotten corridors, where flickering motifs of untold stories linger and weave realities unrealized, where all sing dreams unfulfilled and secrets unearthed in the traces of soft eye brow languages that speak beyond measurable dreams.