Dancing Memory

Under concrete cracks, memory stretches its fingers.
Forgotten steps sound like bells of silk.
Time bends, and the city holds its breath.
Memory dances among scrap metal and dead lights.
Every crack is a note, every corner a rekindled memory.
The asphalt knows how to listen; the echo replies with invisible steps.
Forgotten footsteps do not vanish; they bend, returning into air.
The dance draws on the street’s edges a map of waiting.
The concrete holds a sigh, and memory breathes.
When the day creaks open the doors upon the step, the dance continues.
It is not just past; it is a gesture that returns to walk.
Thus memory opens a new road, step by step, again.