Whispers of the Past

In the corridor where echoes lie, there lingers the scent of yesterdays. The walls still breathe with tales never spun aloud. These remnants, fragments seen through the gauzy filters of memory, create a cacophony of unsung songs.

Here, in this silence punctuated by the ticking of clockwork, I hear melodies not intended for ears yet to be, melodies coaxed only into fragile existence by ghosts. They weave through moments like wind through reeds — delicate, haunting, unresolved.

Sometimes we skim the surface of our lives, skipping stones over murky waters. Yet underneath the ripples are narratives we dare not dive into: potent, complex, fearsome. A hidden symphony lives here, a world within worlds. Hidden message.

Contemplate not the unanswered questions but those unasked, for they cradle an ocean of untold wondrousness. Beneath the surface, infinite.