What if I told you the future isn't a bright road but more like fogged glass? An uncertain blend of the known and unknown. I sometimes sit at the edge of this metaphysical precipice and whisper to the wind, hoping it carries my thoughts into the void, to be painted back someday.
These days, I keep memories like old photographs buried in an attic: cherished, dusty, a bit out of focus. They linger like echoes, soft and warm. You remember that time, don’t you? The day we danced under a violet sky?
I often feel like a memory keeper, an archivist of dreams. My mind runs an endless loop—projecting glimpses
of futures that could be. Sometimes it's happy, sometimes it's haunting. Much like
another path you could take...
So here I am, standing at the convergence of possibilities, keeping memories alive, breathing into them the vibrance of dreams yet to be fulfilled. Each thought a brushstroke on the canvas of tomorrow. You in the future, are you painting the same?