October rain, streetlight glow, and a ghost who swears he's not blushing.

~•~

“Everyone in this house speaks so loudly about legacy. I wonder if anyone remembers how to whisper about kindness.”

“She had a way of writing... as if the ink itself could breathe. I wonder—when you read your own words, do they ever breathe back at you?”

"You asked me once what I wanted... I want a legacy. Not just wealth or power; something that endures. Something alive."