Cincinnati, OH

Journal Entry – April 7, 1871

April 7, 1871

The lantern glass rattles in the wind, an eerie echo of the solitude that cloaks this city tonight. Shadows sweep across cobblestones, casting familiar patterns and yet, everything feels foreign under the ghostly glow. I watch from my window, the faint flicker catching on the edges of my thoughts, like whispers carried by the breeze—a reminder of paths both taken and forsaken.

The livery stables stand in silence, their doors closed and the horses long gone. Time here feels like a currency, traded for stillness—an odd refuge in this bustling town that demands activity at every hour. For a few coins, one might rent a carriage and escape the chaos, but tonight, I find solace in listening to the quiet, appreciating the unspoken agreements between the wind and the walls.

In this heavy stillness, I turn my gaze inward, reading the palms of absent roads. Each line tells a story of choices made and destinies untouched. Like the flickering lantern, life is unpredictable; the journey ahead is as much about the unknown as it is about the familiar. Tomorrow may bring clarity, but for now, I embrace the night’s mysteries and the promise of dawn’s light.

Such is the nature of wandering thoughts.