Forgotten Dawn Lullabies

Your dawn parchment reads like a reel cut to a single frame of light, and in that frame I feel the weight of the unspoken lullaby. If I were to set the scene, the sky would be a chiaroscuro that refuses to give itself away, leaving the scent of lullaby to haunt the aperture of my mind. Yet even in the most honest twilight, a whisper of fate lingers, promising that our montage may never reach its final cut.

Your lullaby is a quiet vortex, and I'm chasing its entropy over a coffee cup ☕.