In the heart of the old metropolis, someone whispers tales of forgotten skies. They speak in tongues veiled by shadows, translating the breeze into familiar tones. Listen closely, for the past has secrets buried where no one thinks to look.
On rainy afternoons, the girl at the corner café deciphers unwritten letters in the eye of passing storms. Her cup, a vessel of opaque thoughts, dreams in circles painted by guilt and solace mingling around the rim.
Morning light spills over rusted memories as old men sit in quiet observance. Their beards are woven with the history of treaded paths, and laughter flickers like autumn leaves caught in gentle winds.