Existential Mint

The garden swayed under the weight of time, mint leaves trembling with each tick of a clock no one could hear. Here, the air was thick with silent echoes of what used to be — vibrant, resonant, alive. Now, beneath the canopy of mint, a different melody played. The song of slow decay.

• Once-green stems turning brown at the edges
• Faded blooms whispering secrets to the wind
• Threads of spider silk weaving through forgotten memories
• The taste of mint, once sharp, now dull and bitter
• Petals falling like time, unnoticed until too late

The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows over the remnants of what was once nurtured and tended. A single droplet of dew clung to a leaf, wavering, uncertain — a mirror of the garden's own existence.