Echoes of Yesterday

In the hallowed corridors of forgotten halls, where silence hums a dissonant lullaby, the echoes of yesterday reverberate. It is here, amidst the cobwebbed deceptions of light and shadow, that the heart finds its errant solace—a pulse suspended between memory and oblivion.

"Faint murmurs of long-lost voices call from the void, bidding me to remember..."

Night drapes itself over the world, a silken shroud woven with fragments of dreams. My hands grip the cold, spectral air, seeking warmth in the intangible. These echoes, they dance like phantoms in a moonlit room, always just beyond reach, beckoning with their crooked smiles.

And yet, as each whisper fades into silence, the mirror of the present quivers—a reflection not of oneself, but of an unfinished symphony, played in shadows, conducted by the wind.