"Do you see how the stars are stitched together?" her voice, like velvet, rippled through the rustling leaves.
"I think they are trying to outshine the sun," whispered the old man, his eyes twinkling with secrets unknown.
"Once, a long time ago, I danced with the shadows in that alley," said the stranger, pointing to a street that was not there. "We talked about the color of silence."
"Tell me, will the stars sing tomorrow?" asked the child, clutching a paper crane that no longer resembled anything earthly.
Overheard in the labrynth of dreams.