Specters of Recollection

Memories haunt us not like specters in shadowed corners, but unwavering companions in the light of each passing day. They cling to us with the tenderness of time's embrace, and the logic of their existence is both clear and confounding.

In the morning, we remember our dreams as faint whispers of a night long gone, yet they are ever-present in their absence, shaping our thoughts like the silent strokes of an unseen artist.

The paradox lies in their dual nature: they are both alive and dead, real and illusory. Much like specters, they draw their essence from our willingness to acknowledge them, walking the line between the tangible and the ephemeral.

And so, we become symbiotic with our recollections, each memory a partner in the dance of existence, asking us to recognize the inherent beauty in their transient, yet permanent, presence.