Somewhere, the hills murmur tales of ghosts, past moments etched in the spaces between breaths. Shadows bend into thoughts—
“Do you hear that? The old clock’s forgotten chimes, ringing in the laughter of those not here… a part of us that never left.”
Distant laughter, the rustle of leaves, were they ever real? Or simply threads stitched together within our memories, fluttering like moths under the soft glow of lamplight?
Careful, the heart is as fragile as glass. Dare to whisper dreams to the night sky; they flock amongst the stars and perhaps take root.
Remember to grasp the warmth of moments lost amid the countless echoes, sometimes gently tugging on the strings of what was once.
Flowing through us, the whispers connect everything—a tapestry woven with notes of vulnerability.