The wind carried elusive whispers, brushed with a hint of warmth, telling tales only the dead understand. Each gust traced stories upon the skin—stories of unmanifested dreams lain dormant in waking minds.
In the empty streets, ghosts shuffle, musk of forgotten dances clouding their presence. They gather at doorsteps—between invisible notes composing the overture of daily existence. Each halting step a note—each story shared, a symphony begun.
Possibilities echo where the real briefly falters, reverberating against the stubborn symphony of silence. Yet, the compelling narrative woven between ghostly penmans is often overlooked, an unseen legacy brushing fingertips as it evaporates into dusk.
Forgotten paths | Beyond the Echoes | Unheard Melodies
And so, life progresses. Onlookers oblivious, eyes cast downward—oblivion itself composing symphonies in silence.