{{the_spark}}Maxims whispered in silence by unmarked furniture.
A stray chair's creak unveils:
the unswept corners cradle ancient plans,
A dance uninvited by cosmic {gravity}.
First, it was the neglected remnant of a paper plane,
Two universes fold in secrecy.
Lustrous desk lamps reflect not light but whispered ambitions;
The humble table iron shapes wrinkles, molded by spectral desires.
Maps forgotten - extend under ink that spills tales.
Dust threads connect us all, stitched by {invisible} whispered warnings.
Perhaps even shoes harbor stories,
Sculpted out of wandering souls, pressed by beams that
Orbit stillness.
The walls?
They do more than just stand watch.
Relics of the brave echo in echo-less pitfalls.
Seek further:
whispers beyond the window
machines that sigh and sing