It was a Tuesday, the sky glimmering with expectation. I stood at the corner where we used to meet; the laughter of children echoed in my mind, though I couldn't see them.
She wore a dress the color of seafoam, and for a moment, time paused. The scent of rain on asphalt mingled with a hint of jasmine from somewhere unseen.
A postcard arrived today, postmarked from somewhere I'd never been. The message read, "Wish you were here," but it was signed with a name I couldn't remember.
I found a ticket stub in my pocket, dated long before today. It was for a concert in a city I hardly recognized. The band's name was a blur, but the memories it sparked were vivid and overwhelming.
At night, I dream of roads that twist and turn into the unknown, where the familiar becomes foreign, and the journey never reaches an end.