The clock ticked softly on the wooden mantelpiece, a rhythmate reminder that time had both form and fluidity. In the cafe, from the corner seat with the sun spilling warmth through the window, I noticed the stranger. Their eyes held embers of stories untold, shadows of echoes.
Conversations stumbled on the pavement outside, blending into music that never quite played in tune. Yet, amidst the boy's joy and the father's patience, the stranger lifted quietly lifted their coffee.
Next TrailThe city hummed beneath layers of haze; a filament of dream and reality intertwined. Every step echoed along whispered alleys, memories concealed in brick and vine.
/forgotten paths leaked into conscious thoughts, rumors of journeys unanswered, trails unfolding towards uncharted narratives, unwinding swiftly.
Reflections linger, mere vapor as the intrepid traveler remains undefined.
Across the contours of sand and sea, murmurs bounced off wave crests. Were they indeed voices, crying against the shoreline? Or merely figments of distant dreams voyaging onward?
In wakefulness, footsteps leave traces too. We wander with intentions clear yet suspended, reality painting our trails with colors of the moment.
Haunting echoes of dreams warmer than morning.