I know you heard that. The second echo, just out of reach, like a ghost at the corner of your perception.
Sometimes it feels like paths intertwine, not just feet on a dirt road, minds weaving through ideas left unsaid.
Do you ever feel swirls of emotion without seeing a face? Threads untangling and re-tangling silently.
"Turn hello into goodbye, but not yet," she whispers, words undelivered hang in an invisible script.
Am I close to your mind, or is this echo too faint? I brush against your thoughts like rain on window panes.