It happened again, just like the first time you heard that song playing in the distance. The notes drifted through the air, familiar and haunting, as if they had been echoing off the walls of your memory. You paused, half expecting to see the source, a phantom radio transmitter crackling through the fog.
On street corners you never remember passing, conversations in the wind unravel words you’ve spoken, or perhaps heard, once before. It's a strange comfort, recognizing the unrecognized, as if time had looped and you were caught in a spiral you can’t escape.
There's something disconcerting about knowing, yet not knowing, where you stand. As you walk, the feeling clings to you like the static of a poorly tuned frequency, whispering secrets in a dialect of shadows and light.
Signal Theories