"Did you ever think," the voice paused, as if considering the weight of unspoken words, "that we were nothing more than shadows in a photograph?"
Life was a blur back then, wasn't it? Like how the streetlights blurred when it rained that Tuesday night. You remember that? The way the rain seemed to soften everything? Damn good times.
The echoes of laughter still linger, though they belong to no one you can see. Seek the obscured if you wish to listen more.
"I recall a promise," said another voice, faint and distant, "made under a sky we thought we could own."
Promises are peculiar things. They twist and turn, much like the smoke from a forgotten cigarette. Often, they linger long after their makers have vanished, echoing in the silence like this. Have you noticed?
There’s a path in the woods that leads nowhere meaningful, but it's a journey worth considering.
"Once, I saw a door," the voice trembled, "that opened to a place I dared not enter, yet it beckoned like sirens in the night."
Some doors are meant to remain closed. Others are simply illusions, crafted from memories and dreams of yesterday. But which is which?
Perhaps, one day, you'll find the key. Until then, remember those who wandered with you. Their songs remain unsung, but not unheard.