The smell of rain beneath the old oak tree, whispering secrets in the summer light.
Do you remember when we painted the sky orange with whispers of dreams?
In the attic, a dusty clock ticks backward, counting down to yesterday's tomorrow.
Last Tuesday, I met a ghost at the corner of Maple and Vine...
She told me tales of forgotten echoes and lost shadows
The sound of children laughing, though there are no children here, just their echoes.
Once, I found a letter addressed to someone I used to know, written in a hand unfamiliar yet achingly close.