Scents of juniper ink, wafting through the hallway of a house that never belonged to me. The smell of wet earth after rain meets the subtle click of astral clocks.
In the dim light of the too-familiar cafeteria, a solitary girl hums a tune as melancholy Bakelite hands toil on a distant radio. Who are these strangers I know?
Once more, I hear the cicadas chirp in Buddhist harmony while the invisible uncle tenders his forbidden garden, a symphony of colors brushed by unseen hands.