In the stillness, a metronome ticks within the heart of shadows.
Footsteps vanish, leaving echoes of what we once captured in whispers.
A dance of ghosts through abandoned corridors, flickers of light
swaying, like memories wrapped in silk, unraveling & re-spooling.
a pulse not found in blood, but in the rhythm of silence.
Every turning corner breathes soft sighs, secrets woven between time.
The window frames a gray luminescence, balmy verses stretching thin.