Have you ever felt that sensorial déjà vu? Like when you smell fresh pastries wafting from a bakery, and suddenly you’re seven years old again, sneaking a bite while your grandma's working her magic in the kitchen. Those sweet moments stitched into the fabric of time, almost forgotten, but always waiting for the right scent.
Once I found an old tin in the attic, filled with marbles and a rusty key. No lock to fit, just the key. I sat there for hours, lost in the possibilities—what doors did it open? But all it opened was the heart to a younger self, imagining castles and hidden paths of secret gardens.
Remember lazy afternoons spent between the pages of a book? I used to dive into stories just to escape into the vast unknown of words. And sometimes, I’d scribble notes in the margins as if talking to the characters, giving them advice on paths they should avoid—or secret ones they should take.
Each step through this labyrinth reveals whispers and echoes, paths half-remembered. Shall we explore together? Discover what hidden corridors lie between here and there.