The garden gates may no longer creak beneath the weight of dusk's velvet sighs,
yet every faded blossom murmurs names only shadow remembers,
litanies of love laid softly upon winter’s fragile breath.
Walk along the overgrown trail, where dew-kissed dreams scatter in rhythmic silence.
Look for footprints — eerily familiar, yet untouched by earthly needs.
Whispers of a lover’s promise echo softly through twilight’s embrace.
Is the path ever-ending, or have we simply forgotten where we began?
Seek the sea’s horizon, where waves sing lullabies to those brave enough to follow.
In the library of lost things, there sits a tome bound in rusted gold.
Open it, risk the unknown, and find the echo of you in someone else's dream.
Enter the tome
Endless roads await, marked by the nameless stars that guide the heart.
More Whispers