sip of steam rising from the forgotten mug, reflections on a rainy window the fleeting recognition of a stranger's smile turning into a shadow, endless paths, intertwined stories, one forgotten beside the others, voices in currents, whispers pursuing echoes of distant laughter, tomorrow's promise lingering like unseen fog.

Morning light makes the dust dance, a moment of solitude turning into a tapestry of colors on the floor, questioning the infinite future in a half-lit room—only to discover shadows stretching out like memories, drifting dreams overlap with reality, a transient map of transient thoughts.

Like pages torn from an old book, the stories sewn together with frayed threads, a ghost of an afternoon, waiting for the sun to set on unresolved questions, remembering something that never happened, a fractured heart of time, fleeting wonders whispering soft secrets to the stars.