Under a canopy of rustling leaves, where silhouettes of ancient friends seem to dance with the breeze, lies the eternal promenade. Here, I walk, separated from the ticking hands of time. Each footfall a whisper, a recollection of laughter long faded, echoes looping back again and again.

Why does the past feel so vivid here? It pulsates with the cadence of unspoken conversations—the stories we never told, the secrets we never buried. I pause, my heart aligning with the rhythm of a forgotten song, and the bittersweet notes resonate through the corridors of memory.

A figure appears in the distance, wrapped in shadows, yet illuminated by a light only visible to those who've walked this path before. They wave, a silent acknowledgment. I want to ask their name, recall it from dreams unrealized, but words dissolve into the canvas of twilight.