The clock ticked with a deliberate pace, each second folding over the last in a mosaic of fleeting moments. Within this rhythm, thoughts lay suspended as if encased in amber, each nugget of time petrified, waiting to be examined.
There’s a solace in the mundane; the sound of coffee brewing in the morning light, the soft rustle of autumn leaves whispering stories from a lively past. Dreams sleep beside us, silent and still, yet eternally vibrant in their untouched potential.
Once in a while, a whisper reaches out, ghostly and tender, flickering like the remnants of a forgotten dream. Sometimes, they speak of what could have been, and other times, they simply exist to remind us of the beauty in silence.