ㅤㅤㅤㅤ

Doves Woven Into Hem of Dusk, Where Elegy Learns to Bloom Again. 🪽

And doves filled the evening sky, wings folding softly against a canvas dimming into dusk, while curtains swayed left, then right, then left again, as though the room itself were breathing; petals of rose scattered themselves gently upon the windowsill, unbothered by the wind that carried them there, and somewhere in the middle of an elegy no mind had ever dared to imagine, love was quietly born, filling a heart once lonely with every fragment of story it had been missing, every tale it never knew it needed, while the wind whispered of something entirely unimagined before, something without shape, without name, and still, the heart already knew, certainly, exactly what it wanted.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ  
THREADS OF COURTESY. | LIST OF COST. | LETTER TO PEN. | MEMOIR OF DEVOTEE.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ