They speak of the Moon as a silent guide, firmly hung in an indifferent sky, yet she listens, she knows. When I trace my fingers across the mirror's surface, seeking answers, shadows of forgotten choices twine within the glass.
Alone beneath that celestial gaze, I hear the whispers of dreams unmet, fading like distant echoes. Her beams touch my face, cool and illuminating, revealing truths I pretend to forget.
Should I trust this reflection, or dare to believe it? The visage gazes back, always just a breath away, haunting the margins of waking life.
In every night of deep contemplation, the Lune reflects hidden burdens. What do you see when the silence becomes too loud? Listen to the whispers unraveling beyond dreams.
These sentiments, woven like mist between stars, beckon with a familiar sorrow. Speak to the unspoken, the void awaiting its voice.