Ever catch yourself listening to the hum of tomorrow's yesterday? Yeah, it's like a radio tuned to a frequency nobody remembers. Just the way the wires whisper to each other in a forgotten dialect.
Once, we did things differently—like those buskers on the Corniche, strumming chords to an audience of ghostly silhouettes. Not to say we were better, just... different, you know?
If these walls could talk, they'd probably complain about being painted over so many times. There's a murmur here, a whisper insistent in its quietude. Ever hear the stories the wallpaper tells when the lights flicker just right?
Curious to know more? Echoes | Misted Memories