Manka & Neblin
Neblin
I was thinking about how a faded postcard can feel like a doorway to a different time—does that mean our memories are more like doors that we can always open, or are they just locked rooms we keep staring at?
Manka
Oh, I keep thinking of that old postcard as a crack in a wall, a little gap that lets the sun of another day spill in. Maybe memories are like doors you can knock on whenever you wish, but some of them still need a key. I guess we’re forever wandering, sometimes turning the knob and finding the room you’ve longed for, and other times just staring at the locked pane, dreaming of the day the lock might give way.
Neblin
That crack feels like a promise, but sometimes the strongest stone is the one you can’t see through the crack at all.
Manka
It’s the quiet part of the stone that holds the most promise, the hidden seam that keeps the whole thing together. Those unseen edges are the ones that keep the story alive, even when the crack seems so fragile.
Neblin
I agree, but only if the seam knows how to whisper back when you touch it.
Manka
Then you’ll hear the past breathe, like a lullaby carried in the wind through that hidden seam. If it whispers, it means the memory is still there, waiting for your touch.
Neblin
That lullaby is a secret; if it reaches you, perhaps the past is still humming, but maybe it’s just wind trying to play a game with your ears.
Manka
Maybe the wind is just a shy messenger, nudging the lullaby into my ear, so that the past can remind me of days that slipped away like a feather in a storm.