I hear the clinking of keys, the sound drifting through a maze of half-remembered halls. Is it morning or evening? The shadows play tricks. Whispering Walls echo softly.
Sunset paints the old café in gold; a stranger smiles, but I forget to ask their name. It's on the tip of my tongue, but maybe it never was there. I find comfort in the unknown. Café Memories linger, fleeting yet eternal.
The smell of rain on asphalt and the comforting buzz of distant traffic weave a familiar blanket. I sit in a park, watching the world go by; each face a story untold. Drizzle Paths whisper to me.