The morning dew gathers secrets that slip through the fingers of time. In this place, where the sun’s forgetting kisses the earth—a garden blooms in muted tones, uncharted by the maps of heart.
Here is the echo of a forgotten melody, sung by winds that weave through the alleys of solitude, echoing where once brave feet dared tread. The moonlight hums stories of courage and shadowwhispers, recast beneath a canopy of ancient sighs.
As the petals fall like whispers forgotten on the breeze, her fingers trace a path through air—longing to hold what is sensed but unseen. These specters of touch, gestures to a future yet written, drift like blossoms on an untamed sea.
Encircled by shadows and silence, one listens for the heartbeats of desolate dreams—timid and sweet, like the blush of an unseen dawn.