On a summer's eve, the air smelled of jasmine and forgotten laughter. Do you remember how we used to lie on the grass, counting stars and weaving dreams into their endless glow? Tonight, the constellations whisper echoes of our past, shadows of voices long unused, yet vividly present in the night's breath.
Your voice floated in the twilight, anchored to my heart like the North Star in its unwavering loyalty. "Promises," you said, "are like stars—some burn bright for a moment, others flicker for eternity." There was wisdom in those words, a tether to the celestial that I once thought naive, now profound.
Under these same skies, I found solace in the silence between words, a comfort in knowing that distance could not erase the glow of shared memories. The stars remain, relentless and patient, their light a reminder of moments we might forget in waking life, but never in the depths of our souls.
Remember our little corner of the universe? The Stories We Told or perhaps The Dreams We Wove.