The coffee shop murmurs, a blend of machines and familiar voices, you realize they're just echoes of yesterday.
Forgotten lanes keep secret treasures hidden beneath the surface, waiting for curious souls.
"Did you hear about the singing trees?" she asked, eyes sparkling with the absurdity of it all.
Old maps don't tell stories; they hint at journeys never undertaken, paths we pretend we know.
"I think I left my thoughts behind somewhere," he chuckled, scratching his head.
In the quiet corners, shadows dance to a melody only they can hear, a chorus of solitude.
What color is your path, anyway? A question that needs more than just an answer.
"Maybe tomorrow," she sighed, looking at the stars that hummed a tune.