Ever notice how sometimes words dance on the tip of your mind? Like murmurs under the surface, waiting for a ripple of thought to give them shape. You walk and wonder, was it part of a dream, or perhaps a conversation on a quiet bus?
Lights flicker, but not the kind you see in the sky or on streets. These are hidden beneath layers of what-could-be, echoing softly. Imagine you're in a room with no doors, only these lights you chase. What's pulling you forward—curiosity, a whisper calling your name?
Sometimes I think of these lights as little promises. The ones we make to ourselves and forget, enveloped by our everyday rush. It's okay. There's beauty in the chasing, in the wandering between moments.