Across the silent dunes of the mind, where stars lay against the skin of oblivion, wanderers find solace in whispers. An ephemeral call echoes through boundless horizons.
Floating amid celestial crests, the heart dances to the murmur of dawn's breath, silently held in rhythm by unseen winds. A fleeting moment or a span of eons?
The air thickened with melodies carried from distant shores, where every note is a slipstream of forgotten stories, weaving beliefs precariously. Shivering threads of trust unravel into gossamer thoughts.
In the gloom, shadows hum a lullaby—familiar, yet foreign—a timeless refrain destined for those who dare listen. With it, their invisible strings’ symmetry sparks elusive joy, Dijon annealed beneath the pecan wood harborage.
Glide through the willows