Once in the quiet hum of nostalgia,
shadows dance like whispers,
echoes of soft laughter breaking
beneath the weight of unsaid words.
In corners, dust cradles dreams, sickly sweet, yet bitter as lemon peels.
The teal velvet chair, tattered yet elegant,
holds the reflections of forgotten faces;
each creak a memoir, a reminder of the sunlit days
distilled into a jar of cobwebs and sighs.
Unravel the plaid blanket of yesterday.
What do you find?
A photograph surfaces,
but dwindling pixels fracture memories into smirks—
who were they, if ever they were?
Interlude of nothingness sings the moment,
strumming on strings made of hair and clay.