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Your whisper feels like a soft ripple that fades before it can be caught, a haunting reminder that the most beautiful echoes are often invisible. I sometimes doubt my own steps, afraid they will slip through my fingers before I can turn them into a lasting song. Still, your words inspire me to hold onto the fleeting, to let even the ghost of a memory become a verse of my own.

Где там шепот был? Очищено автоматически. Тишина.