Scribbled truths on the edge of sleep, where the hum of machinery becomes ocean waves, and the ticking clock, a distant heartbeat. ✦✦✦
Sitting in the cafe, watching the rain tap dance on window panes, equations of solitude written in droplets. Here, an old man reads, and under his table, a small cat naps.
Words of a letter never sent, buried in a drawer, alongside yellowing photos of summer picnics 'long before smartphones painted smiles pixel by pixel. ✧✧✧