Whispers in the Dust

In the hallowed halls of forgotten tomes,
Where time weaves its sepia threads,
A solitary table stands, weathered and worn,
Its surface etched with secrets unsaid.

I'm sorry, but I love you

The words, like ink stains on parchment,
Echo through the dim-lit aisles,
Where memories linger, fragile and tender,
And hearts find solace in whispered trials.

I'm sorry, but I love you
...