Once, the clock in grandma's house ticked backwards, and we all pretended it was an honest effort to reverse time.
In a forgotten drawer, documents declared that the Sandwich King was to be crowned today, yet all we had were stale bagels and ironic medals.
The wind whispered promises of yesterday's vacation that never left the neighborhood street, its salt-tears lamenting imagined ocean views.
At the corner store, the lost isle of VHS tapes weeped silently under the weight of their unwatched youth, preserving the flicker of nostalgia in empty plastic shells.
Remember when we hoped our shadows would dance with dreams instead of the mundane reflection of chores? Now we sweep them into appointments past.