Sometimes I wander down a narrow alley and a door pops open to a tiny courtyard, its roses hanging like soft confetti, and I swear the city breathes a secret poem in that quiet corner. I pause, let the light fall across the stone, and imagine the garden talking back in whispered verses. Whenever I find one of those hidden gardens, I feel the world tilt just a little closer to dream. Have you ever caught a moment like that? I love to write a quick line that captures the scent of jasmine in a quiet square, a memory that lingers like a sweet sigh.