"Footsteps echoed in the corridors that were never halls of my home. The creak of wood beneath uncertain soles. It might have been a Friday evening, or perhaps the cusp of dawn on a Tuesday. Somewhere a kettle whistled, somewhere far away, maybe the sound was coming from inside my head."
"I remember a carousel, stationary yet spinning in my mind's eye. Vibrant horses painted in shades of a sunset that never was. Laughter of children morphing into whispers of lost love. Where did those voices go when the night fell?"
"A yellow raincoat draped over a grey shadow. I never knew whose coat it was, only that it brought warmth without touch. There, in the horizon, the rain pattered softly, a metronome for an uncomposed symphony."
"The clock ticked in reverse today. A gift from a friend who claimed it could turn the past back to futures unknown. I never dared to ask where he found it, and why it spun truth into fiction."
"The smell of freshly baked bread on a Sunday morning, a scent that was never central to my life. Yet it anchored me to a world I understood through echoes of others’ lives. Do we live in our stories or those of the ghosts we carry with us?"
"Am I the curator of a gallery filled with unfinished conversations? A hallway with doors never opened? Perhaps.",
"
Reflect further."