Within the corridors of surviving light, the echoes spill—
once vibrant echoes, now assimilating into the grey tapestry of forgotten whispers, forgotten whispers...
Shards of remembering slip through fingers. Journey left unexplored, where dust holds something sacred, sacred secrets too.
A child's laugh, fractal in the dusky air, a reverb that sings not forgotten names but... ghostly silhouettes.
Books unturned, page by page, unraveling a symphony of an unwritten past, occasionally flickering like a broken streetlight on rue de passante. Fragmented memories retained whilst others succumb to twilight.
Shadows of shadows embrace the edges—a dust trail whispers sweet nothings to the lingering present.