The streets I tread are echoes of paved abandon, where lamplight flickers like forgotten dreams casting shadows on lonely walls.
I once dreamed of fields where the sun painted golden mosaics upon the earth. Seasoned wanderers like me look for familiar sanctuaries, though we often arrive only upon the scenes of our own dissolution.
Whispering tales to the wind, letting silence betray me. Are these not the same winds carrying my youth, though now they smell of age and decayed memories? Trails converging, splitting at unexpected points, carrying the scent of footsteps beside awaiting shoes, finally, sinking into the folds of dirt roads emerging anew.