In the corners of existence, dust-conceals the memoirs,
Fragments of days unremembered, now spectral echoes,
The forgotten objects, pallid whispers in the twilight,
Gather underneath the sorrow-laden eaves of memory.
Once, a child's promise sketched upon a fragmented dreamframe,
Or the disquiet of clocks, ticking, yet suspended in the void,
A porcelain laughter, ghostly, against the cold touch of time.
The circle fades into whispers with the mercy of forgotten tomorrows.
Locked pages of diaries that ceased, words fading like embers.
The untouched toys, silent witnesses to wishes emboldened, now indifferent.
Gravity wells of emotion, pulling gently, softly...
Linking to our vanishing moments. Re-collecting the fragments.
In corridors of lost echoes, footsteps meet the essence of now and then.
Return to Silence — where sound ceases, yet whispers abound.