Strange bells materialize in the wind, lost whispers echo through the forest of forgotten dreams.
The droning of bookshops, where shadows converse. Life lies on pause, waiting for the next chapter.
Conversations abound with no listeners, splotches of unmade decisions stained on the highway of minds.
There's nothing so crushing as ambition fallen into sweet slumber. The dreariness of progress clings coldly to the soul.
If the lighthouses blink for joy, then who drives the ship through the glassy sea? Whence does our direction come?
The jukebox plays foggy ballads of nostalgia—a combination of scars and laughter mingled within heartbeats.