There’s a place in everyone's mind where echoes linger. They repeat, not in sound, but in feeling – vague impressions of moments lived elsewhere. I've been there before, I think. Perhaps it was a dream or maybe a life half-remembered.
"Is it déjà vu, or just a moment stolen from time?"
As I walk through the market, the scent of spices reminds me of a place I've never visited. Bright colors dance across my eyes: saffron yellows, cumin browns, paprika reds, all blending into a memory painting itself without canvas.
Conversations hum around me like a song left on the radio. I catch snippets, half-completed thoughts that seem so familiar. "Do you... true essence... should we..." — voices woven together in a tapestry of unscripted life.
"Whisper your secrets to the wind, let them find solace in the trees."
Do you hear the whispers? They speak of paths to take and roads not traveled. A fork in the journey where both choices stand equally enticing. Perhaps, one day, the echo will offer clarity.