The rain hits the wicket as lightning shatters the sky, and the moon, once a beacon of light, has vanished. Darkness reigns, and I sit, forlorn, as the relentless ticking of the clock echoes in the quiet night. Your ghost, an ethereal figure, shines briefly, then disappears, wandering into the void.
Love, once a tender touch, was never truly mine. Beneath every flicker of light, there lies a burning—an undying ache, a sacred worship deep within my heart. My soul feels the lingering essence of you, like frankincense that burns in the quiet stillness.
The thunderous clap of nature’s wrath roars, then fades, and as rain touches my hands, heaven itself cries. My pain, my words, my wounds, and my sighs vanish into the dark abyss, as your shadow denies its existence, leaving me stranded in a moment of silence.
My love story, once alive in the pages of forgotten scriptures, now becomes a sad song that sings your reflection back to me. It paralyzes my thoughts, consumes my imagination, dragging me into a world of damnation where every dream fades like smoke.
Beyond the broken promises, there lies a world where hope is buried, where the last dream collapses into dust. Rain continues to hit the wicket, the lightning continues to yell, and in the dark, your ghost shines again—wandering, untouchable, slipping away into the shadows of the past.