Outside the cafe on Rue des Martyrs, he tasted the citrus in her laughter. An echo from years past—a bell tolling, yet it was noon and no ceremony in sight. And there was always a next whisper waiting, always there but just out of reach.
Do you remember the tree that cradled secrets only understood in twilight? Your fingers traced its bark, and they left an impression—an inscription of forgotten futures that tangled in our hearts like strings from an old piano.
Recall a Time | The Heart's Atlas