You remember the smell of jasmine, how it danced on summer winds. In a house, window open, a curtain swaying like an old friend greeting you from the past. Or was it a dream?
There’s a photograph in the attic, fading at the edges, showing a family picnic. The orange-and-brown plaid blanket, half-visible, suggests a summer's warmth that lingers like an unspoken promise.
Time feels like a river; sometimes, we drift, sometimes we swim against the current. An old watch ticks quietly in the drawer, yet it ticks differently for us, doesn’t it? Marking fragments of a life knitted from moments.
A child's laughter echoes through the years, perhaps from an unseen window in a house you've never been to. An echo or a memory? You tell me.
Hidden in the folds of time is a secret—perhaps another person’s memory of you, blurred yet vivid. Tread carefully, for the past is a collage of misplaced memories that realign in the shadows of our minds.
Wander the Silence