Soft Echo

The breeze has a way of carrying whispers past the concrete and the clatter of everyday existence. There's a sound in the soft echo I chase, a melody only I seem to hear, lingering in the realm between sleep and wakefulness.

It’s an unsettled mind that finds peace in the shadows. Like staring at the moon, its glow more comforting than any artificial light could ever hope to be. A question hangs in the starlit spaces I traverse, an echo of purpose I have yet to find.

Sometimes, I sit by the worn park bench, the graphite sky spilling over the horizon. I let my thoughts wander, tethered only by the small concerns of tomorrow's chores, while today stretches infinitely in every direction. Have you ever felt the time slow down like that? Stretching thin, like a soft blanket over a quiet child?

Yes, I've heard the midnight songs too. They hum an ancient tune, one my heart remembers despite the veil of time. You listen closely, and they tell stories of what could have been, what might still be. Are they dreams or merely echoes?

Unraveled tangents of thought slip through my fingers like fine grains of sand. And I often wonder if they make sense in the grand scheme of my shadowed wanderings. Another question for another sleepless night, I suppose.

And so, in the depths of midnight, when the world is hushed, I remain. In quiet reverie, I listen. To what, I'm hardly sure.