The summer rain on cobbled streets, boots splashing through the serenade
of droplets tapping a timeless melody, echoes a forgotten laughter.
I remember your eyes reflecting stormclouds and the promise of somewhere
far from here, our hands entwined in that moment of inevitable parting.
In the quiet hum of dawn, a melody plays—a delicate waltz of whispers—
as you stand, silhouetted against the auburn glow, framed by fleeting dreams.
Remember the garden? Now an overgrown wildness, yet alive with old echoes
of laughter and secrets we thought the wind couldn't carry away.
Do you recall that day when time wavered like a reflection?
Why is it so hard to let go of echoes made of whispers? The __cobwebbed__ corners of
our mind hold memories like fireflies in a summer dusk—flickering just out of reach.
With every bustled step down these winding streets, you feel the brush of a ghostly touch.