Lost between clock hands, moments dangle like forgotten dreams, an echo of shadows cast on walls of time. The whispers of children playing, faint laughter dissolving into sepia tones…
Voices of a brass band swirl in the mist; records spun into silence clutch its notes in disarray. Here daylight hesitates—
like a pebble’s path across a still lake, resonating ripples crafting fragile fantasies.
Stray ash drifts in our collective breaths, carrying unwritten tales lingering among the trees, roots entwined and firmly grasped by destinies beyond reach.
At sunsets made of whispered dreams, you may see glimpses of laughter—and there’d be wings upon the dusk, lost flights never to return… Tales entwined in foliage: Memories, Forgotten Paths, and perhaps, most hauntingly, Echoes.