They say there’s a garden that exists between night and dawn —
a place where time holds its breath and memories turn to light.
The girl who wandered there did not know what she sought,
only that her heart had been whispering for something long forgotten.
The moon was the first to answer.
It laid a ring of soft silver in her path,
its glow pulsing like a heartbeat beneath the stars —
reminding her that even the quietest light remembers how to shine.
Farther on, she found an old book covered in gold script,
its words fading each time she blinked.
They were promises once spoken and lost to the wind,
yet still alive — shimmering like silver leaves in her hands.
By the river of blue stone, she knelt and touched the water.
It was cool, but she felt warmth inside —
the kind that tells you the past has never truly gone,
only changed its form to meet you again.
A feather drifted down from nowhere,
carrying the hush of morning.
When she caught it, the garden began to glow —
as if dawn itself had chosen to rest beside her.
And when the last flower closed,
the world did not darken.
The air shimmered with violet light,
and she understood —
nothing here ever ends.
Every ending blooms again,
soft as breath, bright as the aurora.
