Echoes from the Endless Hall

They speak in riddles those shadows that dance upon the walls, murmuring secrets, forbidden tales.
Outside, the rain hesitates—a drop, another, and then silence, a heartbeat in a timeless void.

Lost to the tides of their incessant questions, I navigate through corridors that weave in and out of dreams. The ticking of a clock misplaced, or perhaps it's me who is misplaced?

Voices blend, a blurry amalgamation of what was and what is yet to be. I stretch out my thoughts, trying to catch something, anything, that makes sense. But grasping at mist only reveals more mist, tangled threads of consciousness.

Do you hear it too? The lonesome whistle of the train that once promised an escape?
Tunnels are only tunnels until you realize they're part of a larger orbit.

A ghost plays notes, gentle dissonance breaking the silence, I stand between echoes, mired in perceptions of hopes unrealized, flickers of light up ahead but only if I can remember the way.