Summer afternoons, children's storybooks, garden naps, secret notes, rice cakes, baked pies, empty canvases, and the sight of viridescent fields. Within these moments lies the quiet world of a daydreamer-where the present is only a whistle away from becoming, and the past breathes in a familiar pattern, as though learning to live again.
A tale borrowed from childhood.
2025, aisthete
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