Everyone has a city in their mind that carries the traces of their past. My city would be filled with the joy of my childhood and the moments I shared with my loved ones.
The architecture of this city would be warm and nostalgic. Wooden houses with bay windows would line the streets, adorned with blooming geraniums. Narrow cobblestone pathways would wind through the neighborhoods where I once played as a child.
In the heart of the city, a towering plane tree would stand, symbolizing the cherished conversations I had with my grandfather. Beneath its shade, a stone fountain would flow softly, its gentle murmurs echoing memories of the past. Nearby, an old bookstore would invite me in, its shelves filled with forgotten stories, reminding me of the second-hand bookshops I used to visit after school.
By the sea, a wooden pier would stretch over the water. I would sit there, watching the waves roll in and skipping stones across the surface. The scent of cinnamon wafting from small patisseries would bring back memories of my mother’s homemade cookies.
This city would be a map of my memories, with each street a doorway to my past.