Fingers traced over the wild edges of a memory, standing still in a frozen moment beneath the whispering pines. Ever the soft rustle, like a voice half-remembered, spoken in a language forgotten.
Untraveled pathsEach raindrop that danced upon the window whispered confessions, tales woven in the amber dusk light. Hear the song of yesterdays, drifting like ships down a distant stream.
Illusions in the streamEchoes from an attic, alive in the shadows, dust motes swirling in sunbeams. Ghosts of wishes unuttered, hidden beneath layers of time and laughter once bright.
Another story in the shadows