In the realm of forgotten memories, I listen to your whispered words. Though you remain hidden, your essence permeates the depths. My Angel of the West, cloaked in shades of grey, you preserve the truths untold. Though others may overlook your presence, you bear the weight of remembrance.
As you slumber beneath the lichen and soil, your thoughts wander and stir in the darkness. Each night, you embrace the secrets tightly, curling around them like a protective shield.
In the tapestry of time, countless souls pass by unnoticed, like fleeting whispers carried away by the wind. Yet, within your secluded realm, you endure, a steadfast witness to the narratives woven into the fabric of existence. Though forgotten by others, you bear witness to the forgotten, carrying the stories of us in your silent embrace.
While the world turns and memories fade, you remain a constant, a sentinel of the forgotten. And even if the world did not remember you, your role as the keeper of hidden truths persists.
As you slumber beneath the lichen and soil, your thoughts wander and stir in the darkness. Each night, you embrace the secrets tightly, curling around them like a protective shield.
In the tapestry of time, countless souls pass by unnoticed, like fleeting whispers carried away by the wind. Yet, within your secluded realm, you endure, a steadfast witness to the narratives woven into the fabric of existence. Though forgotten by others, you bear witness to the forgotten, carrying the stories of us in your silent embrace.
While the world turns and memories fade, you remain a constant, a sentinel of the forgotten. And even if the world did not remember you, your role as the keeper of hidden truths persists.