Ever had one of those days where shadows seem to follow you around, but like, they're not even yours? You know, the kind that dance just out of reach, stretching and contracting with the softest of winds?
I was out on my evening walk, right around the corner where the old fountain used to be. It's funny how I can still hear the water, even after all these years.Voices intertwining and weaving, forming patterns in the mist. Or maybe it's just my imagination getting the better of me.
Sometimes, I think these silhouettes cast by invisible light are just echoes of memories that never were. Stories waiting to be told, or retold, as the case may be. Like that book you meant to read, but it just sits there, collecting dust.
"Do you hear the whispers too?" "Maybe they're trying to tell us something we don't yet understand..."
It's easier to pretend they're not there, isn't it? But if we listen closely, perhaps we can catch a glimpse of the tale they weave. A tale of phantom songs and twilight murmurs. Or maybe just a reminder to cherish the fading lights as they slip away.