You know, sometimes when I think of shadows, I imagine they hold onto whispered secrets—cloaked, waiting for the light to reveal them.
Like how a half-finished sentence can flit through your mind, just out of reach, teasingly elusive.
Can you catch it? Will it return?
Glimpse the Shadows
Imagine walking through a sunlit park where dandelions whisper tales of forgotten days, and the air is thick with laughter,
but not the bright kind—the soft echo of dusk.
I met someone named Ash... they carried a palette of colors in their eyes, and spoke of fleeting moments, slipping through fingers like sand.
More Whispers
What if thoughts had feathers? Would they float away on the sigh of a summer breeze, or nestle into your mind, content to stay?