Listen closely, oh weary wanderer, the hollow sound of wheels against pavement rings like a lullaby forgotten, serenading the ghosts of outings undiscovered, resonating in deeply ingrained memories.
Night falls: concrete sighs with each depiction of artistry embodied within cracked walks; silent tears drip from aged adhesive, collecting stories beneath benches where childhood dreams skated at dusk, released like dandelion's wish.
Nostalgic whirls seep into the skin of every board, unwinding tracks of those first glorious gusts – the exhilaration twisting as faint laughter echoes in alternate realities.
“Central control,” whispers the lost grip tape; emotion binds it, haunting the expanse where wheels shiver in the battle against gravity, azure skies dew-dripped with foggy breath, looming yet ethereal; echoes fade.
What funerals unravel beneath grinding noise, a symphony of surrender. The haunting continues with the descendance of forgotten horizons, letting out brisk cries through pinholes echoing agile rhythms imbued in pine and resin.
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