There was a time, near the old school, where the scent of marigolds filled the air. Sarah used to call them "sun jewels." The dusty paths behind the gym echo faint laughter we once knew. Fingerprints of what was left lingering on surfaces untouched by time.
The anticipation of mail order catalogues promised wonders we never ordered. There's a story about empty boxes finding treasures of the soul, lost under the bed. John might remember; he held onto the keys long after we misplaced the locks.
The Lost KeysOn those rainy afternoons in the little diner, the jukebox kept spinning silent songs only the walls understood. Jenny, with her notebooks, charted worlds beyond reach — yet here in these pages, dimensions unfold without borders.
Diner EpiphaniesAmong faded Polaroids and scattered postcards, the sea's blue horizon ties threads unravelled long ago. Memories mistaken for shadows now cast light on paths back to where we began.