In the quiet towns, where whispers of the past linger under every lamppost, silhouettes abound—each bearing tales untold. In the dim light of what seemed a forgotten dusk, our memories forge images that often escape strict timelines. A carousel etched in golden hues outside a decrepit barn; yet it never moved, only spun in the minds of those who remembered it differently.
These silhouettes are formed not by persons cast in shadow against the landscape but by the stories carved into the ether. Stories like the abrupt shadow of a dog that didn’t exist, chasing a frisbee along the beach—the dog, an echo from someone else’s childhood, smells still refreshing the scent of coconut sunscreen and saltwater aftertaste.
Engage not with the named figures within these shadows but with the unnamed experiences they project: deep winter nights filled with the white noise of fireworks in the distance, the imprint of a hand on an ancient tree's rough bark amid cacophonous whispers of autumn leaves resisting decay.