The Last Note

Once, in the shade of lemon trees, he whispered the secrets of the stars, but the stars never listened.

Yesterday's news: rabbits holding court in the church of industrial decay. The hymns were machine-made.

Forgotten letters in dusty attics, their ink fading into whispers. Do you remember the way the fog seemed to listen?

A symphony of echoes, a choir of absent friends. Their laughter reverberated through the empty halls of the moon.

Maps drawn in invisible ink navigate us through cities that no longer exist. The font changes, but the message remains the same.

And in the end, we find an old photograph, sepia-toned, of a place we never visited, with people we never knew.