the fog thickens every step a whisper "I remember the way the leaves shimmered" "what was his name again?"

a bridge, unseen, connecting old lives and new dreams echoes fade and rise, time is a circular breath "she never told me where she went, only that I'd find her" a voice, forgotten, yet familiar

this path has no beginning, only a trail lingered upon by spirits of memory "did you hear the laughter under the bridge?" "it wasn’t there yesterday..." a chuckle, light as air, sits on the edge of reality

footsteps in the rain, tracing circles in puddles the bridge beneath the stars, unseen by all but those who dream "are we the dreamers, or the dreams?" "perhaps both," she whispered, retreating into the mist

the waves call | murmurs of the past