So, it's a quiet sort of day, right? You sit in front of this slightly fogged-up mirror and think, what’s that smell? Roasted... something, like outside a crowded market, but it's not here. It's just you, your reflection, and these supposed “invisible beans.”
Do you ever wonder where the echoes from the future hide? In the folds of a wrinkled shirt or perhaps in the whispers of a passing breeze?
The mirror remembers things you can’t. Like last Tuesday. Not that anything special happened, but somehow, it felt different. The kind of day where shadows seem to speak, where the light has a story of its own, and you, just a listener, an observer in this dance of luminescence and shade.
Maybe we plant these beans hoping to find something again—something we lost or never had. Perhaps it’s the thrill of growing something unseen, unheard, a mystery wrapped in a shell.
Hidden Symphonies