The morning light lingers on the edge of the world, spilling across horizons like spilled ink upon a canvas. Do you remember the way the sun danced on the water that day? The shadows of whispering trees holding secrets too heavy to lift. In the distance, laughter echoes, yet none are present—just remnants, ghostly echoes of invisible joy.
Outside, a cat stretches, its glistening fur a tapestry of time, demanding the universe's attention. Did you hear the birds, skirting the edges of forgetting, chirping dulcet tones, notes escaping as pages left unturned?
In the distance, a lonely figure holds a vintage camera, framing fragments of something lost but tangible—moments woven into memories, snapshots of familiarity diminished by dust.
What lies beyond the veil of the everyday?
What remains, you ask, when silence blossoms like wildflowers through cracked pavements, where laughter mingles with soft cries of the unseen? Do the stars remember you? Or are you just a flicker, a flickering thought passing through this kaleidoscope of existence?