At the edge of twilight

At the edge of twilight, where thoughts intertwine and the labyrinthine paths of the mind stretch infinitely, I find myself on the shore of my own desolation, sculpting dreams in the ephemeral grains of sand. There, I built for you a castle, each tower a testament of my unwavering devotion, but the relentless tide, a metaphor for destiny, washed away my aspirations, leaving only the echoes of my defeat. I dreamed for us an Eden, a sanctuary where the fruits of our love would blossom untainted. Yet, beneath the surface, the roots of our desires were already rotting, and in my blindness, I fed you the poison of my hopes, unaware of the imminent decay. In the silent solitude of my dreams, I envisioned a family, a union of two souls acting as one. Yet, the demise of my truth only sowed seeds of farewell, leaving me lucid in the unraveling tales I spun. I wished for us a future, resplendent with joy and laughter, but I took for granted the ephemeral nature of our happiness, and thus, it withered. In the deepest corners of my longing, I desired for you a partner, steadfast and true, but the cruel irony of fate decreed that man was not me. My heart fractured under the weight of this truth, and in the silence of my resignation, I promised you would find happiness. And in a way, you did, with a man who loves you as he should. Yet, one wish remains—that it had been me.