A window into time, sepia-stained,
Where shutters blinked at horse and rain.
Outside the boulangerie, calm and wide,
A woman stood, not posed, but pride.
The clatter of wheels, the rustle of bread,
Stories unsaid in the hats they shed.
No filters, flash, or digital frame,
Just quiet lives, and louder names.
Simi
Framed through the lens of Arca
Do you remember life before the internet?
Yes, I recall the world unplugged.
Where thoughts took root, not just shrugged.
We met in parks, not in a thread,
And dreams were dreamt, not always read.
Before the scroll, before the ping,
Life was a slower, fuller thing.
What personal belongings do you hold most dear?
Not jewels, not clothes, nor treasures bright,
But letters faded in soft twilight.
A book well-marked, a pen well-worn,
A photo creased, a page time-torn.
The dearest things don’t shout or gleam,
They hold a whisper, a touch, a dream.
Not just objects, but memory’s thread,
Alive with stories softly said.
Simi says... 