Sp̦̽̄̂͘͜ a̵̡̪͚͆̂̓cią̶̵̵̵̼̟̖̠̊̈̿͛ ̶̊̈ ❄e (nori_rng)

They say the past is etched in stone, but it isn't. It's smoke trapped in a closed room, swirling, changing, buffeted by the passing of years and wishful thinking. But even though our perception of it changes, one thing remains constant: the past can never be completely erased. It lingers, like the scent of burning wood.