There was a time when alleys sang.
Not of dulcet melodies but of echoed voices whispering secrets
known only to the shadows. Shadows that danced to their own rhythm,
weaving tales of brick and mortar,
a symphony unheard by most.
Do you remember the night the stars fell?
It wasn't a disaster, but a celestial concert
where each star's fall was a note,
composing a melody over the horizon.
Some say it was a goodbye,
others, the start of something wondrous.
In the corners of old libraries, dust gathers like forgotten thought.
Each particle a memory,
each book a universe untouched.
Ancient texts whisper in languages long lost,
their meanings buried beneath layers of time.
The first light of dawn carries whispers.
It travels through time to reach us,
a message from the sun
that somehow knows our secrets,
our dreams woven into its golden threads.