Yesterday, I discovered a forgotten cassette tape in my attic. Dusty relics hold echoes of teenage mixtapes, each track a portal to awkward dance moves and mismatched outfits.
Sunlight dances through half-open blinds, sketching unexpected patterns across an untouched vanilla latte cooling on the kitchen counter. Mornings unfold stories in whispers.
Sunlight dances off the polished chrome of a bicycle, its intricate gears ticking like a well-kept secret. A neighborhood cat lounges nearby, eyes half-closed, surveying the world.
Noticed a crow observing traffic from the streetlight, switching focus between cars and pedestrians like a curious sentinel, evaluating our chaotic dance below.
