In the room where shadows linger, echoes of old words fade softly into the ether. A carpet of dust kisses the wooden floor, telling stories of time's gentle caress. The air tastes of nostalgia and silence, a blend only the heart truly understands.
Footprints appear and vanish, imprints of those who once tread here, seeking perhaps what they could not find. Each step a story, each story a life, intertwined and lost.
You sit and listen, but the room speaks in riddles. Maybe the echoes are simply remnants of your own thoughts, bouncing off walls wearied by age.