There's a time, often unrecorded, just before the dawn breaks bright and loud when everything seems to pause, like an overstuffed silence brimming with possibilities, and during this interlude, one might, if they listen closely enough, hear the whispers of the ancient galleons that supposedly sailed these very waters, their sails billowing in a wind that has long since lost its direction, carrying messages that were, perhaps, written in the stars themselves, guides and guardians of these echoing avenues.
One such whisper speaks of a treasure not of gold nor jewels, but of experiences and encounters, woven into the tapestry of one's daily voyages, and, often, it’s in these subtle adventures—the conversations with strangers at a bus stop, a shared smile with someone across a crowded room—that the true riches lie, hidden in plain sight like a forgotten song that hums softly in the back of one’s mind.