Since the last strings of remaining autumn began to fade, a silver veil catching countless threads of the blissful moonlight still glistened, but ghosted by the northern lights that mimics the unwinding loneliness.
Perhaps the weaver still lets the free falling snow dance in the unseen winter mist, before they collapse into the unpolished silk. But the weaver still waited, waited for someone's gaze, prayers unseen, yet wishes unearned.
The mourning mountain rumbles and sleeps, letting itself be covered by the wishful veil, still desires for a pure sleep. And the weaver? Sighed and tried, embracing the first flickers of a remorseful sunlight, still bringing the lust for company till it's the next time to weave.
Dec 8, 2025
Dec 8, 2025 at 7:13 AM UTC
Since the last strings of remaining autumn began to fade, a silver veil catching countless threads of the blissful moonlight still glistened, but ghosted by the northern lights that mimics the unwinding loneliness.
Perhaps the weaver still lets the free falling snow dance in the unseen winter mist, before they collapse into the unpolished silk. But the weaver still waited, waited for someone's gaze, prayers unseen, yet wishes unearned.
The mourning mountain rumbles and sleeps, letting itself be covered by the wishful veil, still desires for a pure sleep. And the weaver? Sighed and tried, embracing the first flickers of a remorseful sunlight, still bringing the lust for company till it's the next time to weave.
For Linda
