Somewhere in the rustle of autumn leaves, Terrence heard a melody forgotten by time. A tune borrowed from the breaths of the city, woven into the fabric of the mundane.
Morning coffee shops hum their tunes, the barista’s laughter a harmonic grace note. Each cup brewed, a stanza in the poem of the day, yet unnoticed, hidden in the grind of life.
Life's verse is composed not of grand symphonies, but of whispers and sighs.
Terrence often wondered, beneath the hum of fluorescent lights, what songs would linger in the cracks of concrete sidewalks, where children scribbled dreams in chalk, waiting for rain.
In the gentle creak of old wooden chairs, in the symphony of rain tapping on glass, there is a refrain too soft for ear but loud in heart.
Explore more of Terrence's echoes: The Marigold Lament | The Silent Waltz