Ever had a moment where the world feels like a shuffled deck of old cards? Everything looks fresh, yet there's this nagging sense of "Oh, I’ve seen this already." It's like walking through a painting that you could’ve sworn you painted yourself, once in a dream, or perhaps in another life.
Sipping that morning coffee, you might catch the sunlight spilling through the curtains, and for a flicker, it’s 1985 again. You’re in the kitchen of a house that isn't yours anymore, and the radio hums a tune that wasn’t on your playlist. But listen, it feels oddly comforting, like a familiar melody played by someone you've known forever.
Remember standing in line at the grocery store, and a fleeting glance at a stranger becomes a jigsaw puzzle piece clicking into place? Their smile echoes a memory you can't quite touch. Yet, it’s more than coincidence; it’s a chapter in a book you’ve not yet opened, but somehow know by heart.
The smell of rain on asphalt can whisk you to a thousand thresholds, each whispering stories of yesterdays woven with tomorrows. You take a breath, and it’s like smelling the pages of a book you never wrote but always meant to read—about you, or someone very much like you.