Cabinet of Rustling Reflections

In the crisp air, I sensed the faint sound of rustling, drawn from a time long past, yet familiar. I saw a leaf spiraling downward, as if choreographed. It's a dance I know well, though I cannot recall the music.

The coffee cup settles back on its coaster, a ghost of warmth cascading in rings. I remember now, the morning felt old, an echo of yesterday whispering through today’s routine.

The sigh of a train's whistle, ghostly, haunting, cuts through walls of time. I stand on its platform, eyes closed, welcoming the déjà vu that has journeyed with me.