"In the dusky light, where shadows play, I linger. Time is a viscous thing, not like syrup nor honey but a threadbare tapestry."
"Remember the clattering of plates at breakfast, the usual hum of life? Evidently, it has revolutionized into silence."
A voice calls, distant yet clear. "The sun rises anew, and yet I remain, an unseen observer, the perennial morning ghoul."
In dreams, the forgotten roads are paved anew. The cobblestones whisper secrets. Life, again, a masquerade. Read more...
A reflection, perhaps, of yesteryears—"Was it autumn then, or spring? The leaves were not my concern."
Mirror of the Past: Do you remember what it felt like, when the fog would curl around the familiar, once loving paths?