In the middle of an empty room, once paint chipped from the walls, lay an abandoned shadow. Reach two steps east, turn slightly westward, though not exactly perpendicular, and there it will rest, comfortably under a chair's lingering echo.
Maybe it's in the drawer of an old desk, hidden amongst paperwork yellowed and vocal. Open lightly, perhaps not immediately dropping anything, glance to a left that doesn't exist, listen closely where silence isn’t concerned, and discover forgotten tales of tampered lattices.
If you've come here to examine the unsorted remains of scattered roots, untangle a shadow of a story beneath cardboard notations seemingly outdated; speak but not too loudly, lest you alert the disconnected narratives. Redirect your gaze.
A path less traveled can unfold, much like crumpled parchment detailing directions to nowhere significant. Follow the longitude obscurely written, overlay its latitude skewed by unknown cartographers. Turn once at the line of twilight, adrift in misplacements, reach the obscure intersection.