Hey, have you ever thought about that time the stars fell into the ocean? No, really. Like, a cascade of lights and everyone just stood there—froze in the half-moment between wonder and panic. In my dreams, there are echoes of voices, misshapen shadows making shapes in the dark. Underwater currents can't keep secrets either, and sometimes they whisper.
And the train, the old one, you know the rusty tracks? I heard it passed yesterday. Or was it last week? I could swear I smelled the smoke in rain. Perhaps it was just my imagination running hand in hand with nostalgia. Anyway, did you see the way the fog curled around the station? Like a cat wrapping around a sunbeam, selfishly coy.
The figures beneath the pale surface, they change shape when you're not looking. You ever watch them for too long? They stare back, and it's not... comfortable. There's a story there, one that's been forgotten, or maybe it's the kind meant to be remembered only in fragments. You feel me? Whispers always linger, don't they?