Beneath layers of time's embrace, lies the whisper of a gentle soul, a longing carved into stone, yearning to caress the present. "Speak to me," it pleads through cracked lips of sandstone, echoing in syllables like the soft murmur of a river.
The heart's library, ancient and dust-kissed, harbors tales of unshed tears. Each tale, fossilized yet alive, tells of hands nearly touched, of paths not taken, where moonlit shadows dance in passionate pursuit. Inscriptions etched in longing, read only by those who dare to feel.
Wander these corridors of forgotten wishes with us, where stone awakes under the tender brush of compassionate winds. Let the silence speak in volumes, where unspoken words bloom like night jasmine, fragrant with promises untold.
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