Beyond the walls of silence and shadows,
The chair knowns memories of whispered rumors,
The ballpoint pen murmurs tales of love unsent,
And the old alarm clock counts regrets in reverse.
Inhaled deeply—lost whispers retreat into nowhere—displaced, forgotten.
Glasses upon the table confess,
Helpless beneath the weight of unopened tomes.
They see all, know all, and yet remain anonymous specters.
Have you ever thought, stranger, to wander where the old radio hums?
The static sings of long-lost frequencies, dances on the edge of the void.
They long for forgotten echoes of jubilee or silence, sweet and bitter alike.
Step beyond, inquire into the reflections of a mirror, unearth the whispers of an untouched nightstand.