In cities split by shadowed light,

Where faces flicker, wrong and right,

A lens once caught what eyes dismissed:

Two hearts, two names, one ghostly twist.

Leo walks through frames of time,

A man of silence, shape, and rhyme.

He trusts in facts, in light’s decay,

Not fate, nor love’s elusive sway.

But Clara danced in Berlin’s glow,

Her mirror, Mira, soft and slow.

One vanished, one remained unseen:

A love that fractured in between.

Years passed like whispers in the mist,

Till Elena’s smile gently kissed

The edges of a life withdrawn:

Yet Sophie stayed behind the dawn.

The names repeat, the gestures rhyme,

A pattern etched beyond all time.

A book, a photo, Isabelle:

A tale too strange, too deep to tell.

In France, beneath the cypress trees,

The past uncoils with ghostly ease.

A cycle turns, the mirror bends,

Where love begins, and never ends.

So ask not whom the heart may choose,

When faces blur and truths confuse.

We love the soul, or so we claim,

But chase the echo, not the name.