Have you ever found yourself wandering down a path you've taken once before, feet moving almost of their own accord, only to be tantalized by the whispers of what was and what could have been? My mind's grown accustomed to these strolls; they scratch at the surface of memory like fingers skimming a piano's keys... so haunting, yet revelatory.
Sometimes, I catch myself pondering the nature of these ghostly impressions, as if some phantom limb I can't see tugs at the threads of our reality—a gentle reminder, perhaps, or a mischievous echo playing tricks on my restless thoughts. Have you ever heard those whispers late at night when the world dips into that quiet certainty that veils our daily hash of human noise?