In the quiet corners of yesterday, where shadows linger longer than light, I find fragments of conversations never fully born. Words hover, unuttered yet palpable, like the sighs of a sleeping sea.
There is a road, familiar yet unseen, where I walk barefoot upon whispers of paved dreams. The stones remember my steps, though my heart forgets their song.
Sometimes, I hear the echo of a voice that is mine yet belongs to another. It speaks of a time wrapped in the fog of mornings not yet arrived, where déjà vu and destiny weave their silent dance.
These moments, these silent echoes, are mysteries unwrapped not by knowing but by feeling. They remain untouched, like dreams that slip through fingers like fine sand as they awaken to the dawn.
Was there a time? I ask as the world around stirs with shadows of questions, known yet unspeakable.