In whispered fragments, the light bends.
A child's laughter echoes through halls that were never built.
Shadows recall dances with forgotten partners.
What is memory but a flickering glow in the soul's attic?
The third door on the left opens to a sunlit room.
But the sun is a candle, long extinguished.
Chairs stare blankly at empty spaces once filled with debate.
Is perception a tapestry woven of lies by the mind's hand?
Illusions linger like specters behind closed eyelids.
Tell me, where does the mind keep its secrets?
Perhaps in the luminosity of dreams half-remembered.
Unveil truth beneath layers of ephemeral light.