Ever deconstructed a dream like it's IKEA furniture? Here's a wrench:
There’s a corner shop in a yellow house. I’ve never bought a thing but collected whispers of half-sung lullabies on its steps. Ever stop and realize you’re holding a song made of silence?
Whimsical PondsOne Tuesday at noon, I danced with shadows cast by non-existent trees. Their leaves spoke a language I can’t remember, but it felt right, like riding a bicycle through intangible emotions.
Paths of YesterdayThere's this café that only serves light breaks and heavy sunsets. Every sip is an echo of laughter from a stranger’s past, harmonizing with the patter of raindrops on invisible rooftops.
Forgotten Melodies