Remember those long summers? The kind where time stretched like sleepy cats under the sun, refusing to rush anything. We would sit on the porch, sipping lemonade, the taste of which would fade slowly, mirroring the day itself.
It's funny how the sound of cicadas became a soundtrack to our childhood adventures. Each buzz and hum a reminder that even summer has a rhythm, a tempo of its own, dictating when to play and when to rest.
Sometimes, I wonder what happened to those days. They slipped through our fingers like sand, didn't they? But I don't grieve for them. I celebrate them. They were beautiful while they lasted, like a melody that lingers after the song is over.
I still hear whispers of those moments when the world is quiet, like echoes from a forgotten past. They remind me of the delicate nature of existence, of how everything is transient, yet somehow, everything also feels eternal in memory.