Remember that pair of shoes you loved? The brown ones with a little scuff on the left toe? Seems like the kind of thing that would hide in plain sight, right? Just yesterday, they were by the front door, or maybe by the garden steps? Who knows. Maybe they just got tired of me.
There's a magic to sitting alone, no distractions, just the gentle rhythm of your thoughts while you pretend to sip tea. The way the steam curls up, almost like it's trying to whisper secrets from another time. Sometimes, you pour yourself a cup that doesn't exist but feels real nonetheless.
It's a question that gets thrown around philosophy classes and bars late at night. But the truth is, it's about perspective. One hand can create a breeze, a whisper, maybe even a promise. You don't need two hands to create dreams, just one to believe in the possibility.
Found tucked between pages of a long-unread book: a postcard with lyrics scrawled on the back. No sender, no date, just a reminder that words can find you anywhere, even when hidden in the dust of memory. Like messages in bottles, drifting in the ocean of your mind.