Time didn’t grow here the way you’d expect. It didn’t root in the ground or stretch out in a straight line. Instead, the garden bloomed sideways, twisting back on itself. Flowers opened only to close again, repeating the same movements with a quiet rhythm. Each petal was a second that never quite passed. The leaves flickered between seasons, a confusion of spring in winter, autumn in summer. The sun circled lazily overhead, unsure of which way to turn.
Butterflies That Linger Too Long
They didn’t flit from flower to flower. Instead, they rested on petals like memories, their wings still and heavy, soaking in moments they couldn’t name. Time passed around them, but they didn’t feel it. Their wings didn’t flutter in urgency. Each moment was savored, not rushed. It was as if the world itself paused whenever they landed. Every breeze became a story that never had to end. Here, the only thing that moved was the earth beneath your feet.
Vines That Wrapped Around the Past
The garden wasn’t a place to look forward to. It was a place where the past lingered, curling into the present. Vines twined themselves around forgotten moments, bringing memories to the surface. Every bloom was an echo of something you’d left behind — a shadow of an event that never truly ended. The vines would sometimes whisper, as if they were urging you to remember things you couldn’t quite place. But the more you tried to recall, the more the memories slipped from your grasp.
What if time wasn’t a line, but a circle, and the moments we fear losing were always just waiting for us to find them again?
Shadows That Moved Without Sunlight
The shadows were the only ones that understood time. They didn’t need the sun to exist. They stretched and curled like liquid, shifting slowly from one corner of the garden to another. Each shadow held the shape of something forgotten, a glimpse of a world just outside your reach. They didn’t behave like shadows, as though they were separate entities altogether, keeping their own secrets from the light. Time wasn’t measured here by hours, but by how far the shadows wandered.
