In the curled shadows of past lives, where ivy traces patterns on stone faces, do you ever feel like whispering? Sometimes, I think the wind carries your voice, stitched together by ancient breaths and youthful sighs.
Among the ruins, we find solace in ruins of thoughts too. Remember the tale of the wandering cat who ruled a lost city like it owned the sun? Cats, I believe they understand how fragile empires are, how easily they slip to dust.
Some days I sit on the old stone benches and imagine conversations between vines, debating their views on civilization and its perpetual cycle of rise and decay. Have you ever seen a vine wave goodbye?
And perhaps there are stories hidden in the cracks of these timeless blocks, stories not written but felt, like thunder before a storm. Fables, breathless and waiting, for voice and audience alike.
Explore other tales: Etchings of Epiphany | Wonders of Whimsy