The grandfather clock ticked in reverse, its rhythm echoing a forgotten ode to the future. You recall the sun-drenched classroom where the walls whispered important secrets, parcels of knowledge tucked behind ancient maps. Did you ever learn them? The letters spill from the edges, forming a slow river of comprehension, drifting past the paper boat you forgot to float.
A park bench in a place you have never been—yet here the shadows stretch long, inviting conversations with specters of the past. Beneath the bench, a journal collects dust, volumes of lived dreams and mingled thoughts. The ink, long faded, weaves stories of encounters that slipped through the cracks of time. Do they remember you?
Echoes of laughter reverberate off invisible walls, a soundscape from a life half-remembered. The melody of a kaleidoscope played under a cerulean sky dances in your mind. Voices—a song—or perhaps a spell?—cast in a language known only to dreams. Can you breathe beneath this horizon?
The echo beckons, and so you follow, tracing the invisible paths of light that bend quietly around memory's edge.
Once, you chased a breeze along the whispered time banks of a river which flowed upward. Or maybe, it was a stream of thoughts—your thoughts—trickling past landscapes colored by nostalgia.