Imagine two silhouettes walking parallel, not knowing the other exists. Their paths crisscross in faint memory. I sometimes wonder if I've stepped in line with someone else, leaving impressions that lead nowhere. The marks remain, faint in winter morning fog, only to be dissolved by time's whisper.
Have you spoken without meaning to, caught in a parallel dialogue? I found myself tracing these echoing phrases, like an unfinished book, the author silent. Words wander off, unspoken but felt through quiet spaces that fill with thought.
The coffee shop on the corner sees many double lives. People sit with shadows of their alternate selves, sipping espresso from porcelain cups. Do you ever experience these moments, where reality feels like a play, and you're both actor and audience in a world that rarely pauses to ask, "Why not take another route?"