The way the light hits the cobbles at noon

It’s just after one, and I’ve been sitting on a bench near the old forum ruins, watching how the sun slants across the worn stones. The cracks between them hold dust and shadow like old memories. I keep thinking about how people walked here every day—no idea they’d become part of a story we’re still reading. It’s not dramatic. Not even beautiful in a way you’d photograph. But it’s real. And that’s enough.