Walking the familiar hallway, we often forget to notice its empty canvas walls. Tonight, the shadows are woven tighter. Imagine the sound of sea, crashing far beyond land. Listen.
The secrets spoken, not by those who linger long in space. No, by those who catch whispers out of seashells—impressions left by journeys of light and sound. Dark edges of hallways seem to hold conversations born in cusp of twilight.
Some echoes melt to whispers in hidden crevices. Others, rehearsed, rise like fog while existing air currents play truant. There’s a tapestry of voices made voiceless, and yet there is song between breaths—hint of harmony not sung.
Suppose beings less tangible share the hallway with you, walking just out of sight, eternal. They speak, though words beyond comprehension weave the fabric.
Do you dare connect? Run hand against wall and transfer echoes caught beneath paint’s skin.