The keys to moments long past hang on the wind, whispers in a language unbound by time. In shadows found only in the corner of the eye, they slip away, these echoes.
I remember... but only just barely, as if memory is a mirage made of promises broken upon waking's shore.
The sound of rain against the windows, ancient yet new, weaving stories through the glass panes of laughter and distant cries. Did you hear it too?