Fossilized ideas whisper through the echoes of time, begging to be recognized. Each thought stands as a reflection—
“Was the sky always this color? I remember a time when it felt like a blanket, tucking us away, a mother’s intent.”
An incongruous fragment gathered beneath the floorboards: the mismatch of a feeling that slipped away.
You could have made a sandwich with the leftover dreams. Do not underestimate the power of forgotten aspirations—sealed in glass jars amidst clutter.
Similarities replicate ground upon ground. The heartbeat of cities gone redundant, yet their tales weave a living tapestry.
“It was Tuesday, not particularly significant, and still... the cat danced in the sunlight, a Lady Macbeth twirling in pools of dew.”
Each line has rhyme, yet wildness flickers in spells of disarray.
Transience molded the illusion of permanence; perhaps we are remnants after all, searching for paths through the dust.
Do these fragments call to anyone? Link: Fossils of Our Minds