"Remember that time we sat on the edge of the world, talking about how clouds are just dreams that drift too far from the sun?" She said. It lingered in the air like a forgotten song.
“Some say that every laughter heard is a whispering echo of someone’s memory.” He chuckled, tossing breadcrumbs to the wind, eager to trace back what’s been lost.
On those nights, shadows danced. Hours slipped through our fingers like grains of sand sifting through a rusty hourglass. Dreams took flight, tangled in the glow of streetlights.
They say time is a river, endlessly flowing. Yet, do we shape it, or does it shape us? With every moment, a new ripple is cast.
Fragments of Conversations Shadows of Moments... Whispers Lost in Time