Vaguely the clock ticked, a sound scraped across the skin of silence, whispering secrets of forgotten tomorrows.

She said, "I saw the horizon, but it was painted in shadows, echoes of a past that never was."

Underneath the floorboards, dreams murmured, "We are the color of whispers, fading into the dusk of memory."

Did the sky really turn green? Maybe it was the eyes of the city crying.

A laugh erupted from nowhere, scattering the fog of an evening long forgotten.