(A quiet memory of sunlit streets, shared laughter, and the footsteps that still echo.)
The sun bounced off the rooftops,
gold splinters on the cobblestones.
Your hand brushed mine
as we wandered the narrow streets,
laughing at a private joke
that lived only between us.
Shadows stretched long,
cooling the corners of the piazza.
A fountain murmured in the square,
and somewhere a bell struck the hour.
Every step we took
seemed to leave a whisper behind,
soft as a sigh.
A day pressed like a leaf between pages,
bright and fragile,
visible, yet just beyond my fingers.
The footsteps fade,
but the cobblestones keep their memory,
softly,
like sunlight caught
in a single drop of water on a ledge –
waiting,
patient,
to remind me of a moment
I still carry
even when I walk alone.