In the attic, above dreams, beyond whispered promises, lie boxes too heavy to lift. Stuffed with sugarcubes of memories, potent with nostalgia, fleeting like cloud shadows over sun-drenched fields.
All those papers, peppered with ink blots - letters unsent and dreams written in midnight oil. Grownups all had treasures like these — hidden, unseen, scarcely touched. Boxes promised mysteries left for someone else.sugarcube
Does the heart ache in places we forget exist sugarcube? Standing at a window, your gaze lost beyond city walls and moonlit shores where children no longer chase passing ships through echoing woods.