Fleeting Echoes

In the dappled light of fragmented thoughts, a whisper trails after the wind, calling for something that wasn't, or perhaps never could be. Shadows whisper secrets to the ground, cobbled tales of once-was, and I am but a passerby, collecting echoes in the folds of my coat. The world is a series of mirrors reflecting reflections, and in these, I see you—unrecognizable, yet intimately known.

Sometimes, I listen to the stories you tell in my absence, woven into the fabric of time, like threads spun by unseen hands. These stories unravel in the space between moments, where the heartbeats of time pause, just long enough to allow understanding to slip through, like sand through fingers, leaving traces of where it has been.