Underneath the solitary tree, I remember the laughter of friends, endlessly chasing the horizon. Not their names, but their shadows linger still, whispering in the breeze.
A slow river meandering through past days, where a fractured photograph remains—forever unprocessed—of a gentle smile and distant song.
In the attic, an old radio plays static. Voices fade in and out, narrating forgotten tales in languages half-remembered. The warmth of a new dawn holds promises, but who knows what they were?
Strange nights in unfamiliar cities, where the street lamps flickered like fading stars. Alone, yet not. Could you hear the echoes of laughter in those deserted alleyways?
Each memory spoken, a ghost of yesterday. Each moment captured, a fragments of forever.