"Do you remember the way the light danced between those leaves?"
I nod, though the memory is not mine. It's woven from a thread of forgotten dreams overlapping in parallel.
The walls spoke in murmurs, did you hear?
Sometimes, I think, they were harder to understand than the people though the whispers felt more familiar...
A clock ticks...and ticks...
The sound grows louder in the silence, as if demanding attention, pulling me away from reveries and into the present.
"Her name was supposed to mean something, but no one remembers."
Lost histories etched in skin, stories carved deep into the silence, only to be erased in time's cruel embrace.