In a land forgotten by the tick of time's watch, little clouds danced on beams of sun. One day, they whispered secrets to a rusty swing. The swing did not reply, it only creaked.
Once upon a time, there was a tree that didn't want to grow. Its branches stretched sideways, exploring the world, holding hands with passing winds.
The echoes found us, they always do, hiding beneath the cracked paint of old seesaws. They remind us stories we can't remember.
The path twisted away until it didn't exist, leading only to places we forgot to look. And there, the whispers lingered, waiting for ears to listen.