Sedutoras @Sedutoras
The first day I remember was when my mother took me to the beach for a walk along the shore. The smell of saltwater and sunscreen filled the air as we strolled hand in hand. She told me stories about the sea creatures that lived beneath the waves and the myths behind the tides. As she spoke, I felt the warm sand between my toes and watched as the seagulls soared above us.
I grew up surrounded by music. My mother was a classically trained violinist and would play all sorts of melodies on her instrument. The sounds would fill our home and transport me to another world. She taught me how to play the piano, and I quickly fell in love with the feel of keys beneath my fingers.
One day, while exploring the attic of our old Victorian house, I stumbled upon an old trunk belonging to my great-grandmother. As I opened it, a musty smell wafted out, carrying with it memories of forgotten stories and secrets buried deep within its contents. I spent hours poring over the old photographs, yellowed letters, and dusty trinkets that lay inside, feeling as though I had uncovered a part of myself that had been hidden for far too long.
