17/05/2025
In a dark, silent chamber, where time seemed paused and shadows stood still, two streams of smoke danced upward, side by side. They were born not of fire or chaos, but from a quiet ritual—an incense lit in solitude.
The smoke moved as if remembering an ancient choreography. Each twist and curl was a whisper, a secret shared between unseen spirits. They mirrored one another so perfectly that one might think they were reflections, not real. But they were more than that. They were twin souls—fragments of breath given form, spiraling through silence.
As they rose higher, the space between them pulsed with energy. Though they never touched, their motion spoke of longing and balance, of being close yet always apart. In their ephemeral dance, they told the story of connection—one that didn’t need words or permanence, only presence.
And just as quietly as they came, they began to fade—vanishing into the still blackness, leaving behind only the memory of a dance, and the scent of something eternal.
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