Pathways Dreamed

In the hollow of a seashell, I hear echoes—echoes that whisper secrets of dreams and forgotten footsteps.

"It was on a Tuesday," she said, staring out towards the river, "the sky felt like it could crush you at any moment." Her words floated, tethered by nothing.

A vague memory surfaced—a train station, the acrid smell of coffee, and forlorn tickets unused, crumpled in the back pocket.

"Maybe today is different?" The question lingered in the air like morning mist, bound for places unvisited.

The tiny shop on 5th Street buzzes with talk of fortunes told and unfoldings realized. Norman, the shopkeeper, rolls his eyes as the door bell rings again.

Whispers in the Raindrops If Clouds Had Feet

Elsewhere in the world, a cat contemplates the day's offerings from an apartment window. The sun reflects in her eyes, two infinity loops holding universes unspoken.