Did anyone ever tell you the sky was purple at noon? Maybe they thought it was a dream, a fleeting thought lost in the bustle of everyday chaos.
Meanwhile, the clocks ticked on, unbothered by the colors of the imagination. Tick, tick, tick.
But beneath the hectic surface, whispers of forgotten lore linger like shadows at dusk. The kind of stories you hear in passing; a friend recounting an old tale, a stranger's anecdote halfway through a bar conversation.
Remember that time we lost our keys? Or was it a wallet? Doesn’t matter now, does it? Just another echo. Just another curiosity. See echoes.
Sometimes, you catch fragments of these stories like glimpses of a passing train. The sound, the movement—frenetic, disjointed, and yet so achingly familiar.
And here we stand, in the middle of this ever-turning world, examining the echoes, the reverberations of moments past. Echoes of tomorrow?
Listen closely, and you might just hear them, too—the secrets of the everyday, woven into the fabric of time and space, waiting to be rediscovered.