Do you ever find yourself drifting through the haze of memory? The past is like a paper boat, floating on a river of time, carrying whispers of laughter and fragments of silence. I once thought a star fell, but it was just my heart remembering.
The smell of old books can take you places. Strange, isn’t it? As if the pages have absorbed tales never told. Sometimes, I picture a world where the skies are dotted with thoughts—each cloud a lingering idea, waiting to rain down inspiration.
Why do we cling to certain moments? Like a worn-out sweater that still fits, even when it frays. The last dance, the soft sound of a voice—echoes that murmur in the stillness of the night. “Forget? Oh, never!” I say to the shadows, as they gently weave the past into the tapestry of now.
What if I wrote a letter to my future self? “Dear Me, remember the laughter? The wild colors of dreams? Drink deep from the cup of imagination.” But that cup is a fleeting dream—tasting the sweetness of possibility before it evaporates.
Oh, and there was that time when we laughed so hard we cried—somewhere in the folds of time, the memory is preserved. Could it be that nostalgia is just time's cozy blanket, wrapping around the heart a little too tightly? Read more about whispered notes.
And yet, every heartbeat is a chance to rediscover, to unfold new chapters. Here, take my hand, let’s wander this labyrinth of our thoughts. Find some faded photographs left behind like breadcrumbs.
Where do dreams go when we wake? To the other side of morning, perhaps? Or are they simply folded within the everyday? Maybe they dance, unseen, every time the wind whispers through the trees.