It began with an empty room, where each wall spoke of forgotten laughter and lingering tendrils of smoke. The light filtered through dusty blinds, creating shapes that danced intermittently. There you were, assembling narratives from these shadowy vagaries like an artist reluctantly parting with brushstrokes. The whispers of remembered conversations echoed, as if part of a larger discourse now out of reach. Pieces of a much-discussed puzzle lay - but the picture was lost.
Sometimes the chairs bear witness; other times, the coffee stains on worn tables etch tales of ephemeral warmth before commitment to permanence. In the cadence of life, a hollow ticking marked time, punctuating silent confessions. Silent intentions surface only to be slashed by the inevitable: an erasure slow and indifferent.