"Aren't we all just questions waiting for answers?" the wall mused, echoing its own wallflower existentialism.
The ceiling replied, gracefully: "Gravity's pull is a myth in this metaphysical ballroom."
"Dancing shadows on the wall," whispered the floor, "never skip a beat with suspended disbelief."
"But why do the echoes need walls to lean on?" asked the door, hanging loosely onto its hinges of irony.
Silence, the sage of this chamber, simply shrugged, revealing its profound emptiness.