Memories drift like fog on stale cobblestones.
Ubiquitous murmurs, threading silences layered like skin, worn and read.
Once, they sang, resonating with the forgotten stars spelling secrets only visible in dreams.
When the clock willed the day to pause, thoughts slid like shadows between curtains of light and dark.
Later, the cats strolled outside, silently judging the universe, unfurling their thoughts through touch.
{Echoes slip through empty sieves}{Do windows frighten the birds?}{Hearts break in the time of dusk.}
Yet, how do we dress our fears in attire of autumn winds, crisp-like paper?
Connections fray, melting time and instance into puddles of neuron-fizz. Encounter desire bouncing like deliberate whispers off cracked walls.
What is the color of nostalgia? Is the essence of rainfflowers ours to compose? Fragments spiral, fading to a point.
Delve Deeper into Chasing Echoes