Like scattered autumn leaves, those words drift silently through the corners of memory, echoing in the hushed pauses where stories beg to be told. A shadowed desk in a long-abandoned study, dust swirling in the slant of a broken window. Secrets coat the fading ink like whispered truths wrapped in twilight.
Outside, the trees listen and remember. A child's laugh once painted life into those pages—the illustrations dance to a rhythm only they know. A dedication to dreamers yet unborn, these stories hold spaces for lives unwritten, paths untrodden. The leaves retain their own softer secrets, like the rustling pages of time itself.
There it lays, in the corner, beneath the wrappings of stories the world forgot—a note from a traveler stilled among shadows. "Look for the ones who listen," it said, "for they know the world."
Whispers from Dusty Threads The Unspoken Words Ephemeral Texts of Time