There are murmurs of what once was, echoing in the empty halls of when. They drift like smoke, intangible, yet known.
Days blend. Each moment, a note played in a solitary symphony, a loop that plays on, and on, and on…
The sun sets, and I ask again, why the shadows seem longer today than they ever did.
Do you remember the rain? Each drop a marker in time, a moment missed or gained, yet never accounted for.
We tread softly on this path of thoughts—an unsaid conversation in the quiet of a mind's eye.