The echoings of what could have been, drifting like leaves in a forgotten autumn breeze. I remember a song, perhaps a laughter, mirrored through fragmented glass.
Muffling the tickling sands of wandering pathways, my fingers brush against shadows that coalesce into memories unvoiced.
I was once a ripple on a coastline, now I am a ghost adrift on thoughts of dawn. There are doors that lead into nothing, corridors painted with sighs.
Threads of silence weave through rooms that hold forgotten truths; my footsteps echo in the quiet, tracing circles around a dream.