Sestina
Echoes of Forgotten Promises. AI-Generated.
Clara could still hear the sound of promises. Not the spoken ones, the ones carved into wood, written in ink, whispered late at night under streetlights. She could hear them in the way the wind passed through her empty apartment, the way the coffee cups rattled on the counter, the soft creak of the floorboards under her own hesitant steps.
By Ihsanullah29 minutes ago in Poets
