Some aches aren’t meant to be cured.
They’re meant to be cradled softly… like the weight of moonlight on skin.
Wander carefully.
The softer you listen, the more you will remember.
It begins quietly… like velvet against your skin.
Somewhere between breath and surrender, twilight calls you closer…
Between midnight and morning… everything softens into ache.
Not all murmurs ask for answers. Some just ache to be heard.
Some echoes don’t fade. They nest inside your breath.
Some moments flutter by… but you never forget the ones that marked you.
In every midnight garden, there’s a secret you almost remember.
The rain doesn’t wash it away. It only teaches you how to ache more sweetly.
Every garden has its ache… and every ache holds a promise you haven’t yet spoken.
Tracing the ache… sometimes becomes the way back to yourself.
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