The room echoes with fragments, notes of a symphony left unsung, a cacophony of silence that pulses and reflects.

Once, there was laughter, vibrant against the walls, a broken record, weaving stories of golden light and shadows.

Beneath the dim glow, whispers lilt and linger like tendrils of smoke, curling, seeking, but finding only the void.

Time, like an old friend, visits the same corners, imprinting, repeating those gentle taps, a rhythm of ancient dust.

Murmurs in the hall draw you closer, the hum of dreams that never were, of lives played out behind the gauze of memory.

In a forgotten drawer lies the seed of recall, buried beneath pages yellowed by time, the diaries of yesterday's children.

Let your thoughts linger, floating atop the surface like autumn leaves on a pond, both buoyant and weightless.