“Outside, the clock strikes thirteen. A shadow of a cat flits past, whiskers quivering against autumn fog.
The jar of marbles, long forgotten, trembles with the sound of echoing laughter—
Fragments of names slip through my fingers like smoke, swirling into stories untold. Did I dare to dream that evening in the train station,
or was it only a figment woven into the fabric of my mind, like threads in my grandmother's tapestry?”
“I remember the way he laughed, joyous and insane, as birds unfolded from his mouth, fluttering into the realm of the unseen. How many lives can one live?
The smell of burnt toast lingers, the echo of a relic, a long-lost breakfast with a stranger. Time collapses on itself in the glare of streetlights surrounded by velvet darkness.”
“She whispered secrets in the language of rustling leaves, each word a testament to the silence unheard, entangled with tangled thoughts on cracked sidewalks.”