Isn't it odd? The way whispers seep through walls, rattle through empty hallways—
“Did you hear that?”
The supermarket feels heavier at night; a looming specter of previous shoppers wandering through unlit aisles.
Yet here we stand, in the glow of the fluorescent lights, where possibilities stretch like shadows on the edge of dusk. What if all these moments are embroidered tales of forgotten steps?
"There goes the sound of feet dragging, uninvited, slips back into...” Is someone there, or is it just me?
They say the dreams beneath the surface are most revealing. What have you buried so deep that it begs to emerge? Remember the days when stories floated like errant leaves? Only to find them again tangled in yesterday's murmurs?