In the corners of my mind, a gallery of moments hangs undisturbed.
Each frame an imprint, each whisper an echo, silent yet persistent.
Here, tales of forgotten afternoons linger, like shadows cast by dreams.
Doodles in the margins of time—an art of unspoken words and unseen paths.
Do you remember how the rain danced on the rooftops, a melody only the night knew?
Or the way the moon spilled secrets over the land, turning the ordinary into extraordinary?
These were the moments when silence spoke volumes,
when reflections shaped into forms less tangible, less bound.