The walls whisper tales of yesterday's breath,
where echoes bend light in curving shadows.
Already, the past has worn thin. A veil, fragile yet persistent.
Fossilized thoughts, resting upon layers of time,
unfold like reluctant petals to a sun unseen.
Embrace the desolation, where solitude hums.
Notes of a forgotten symphony, lingering in the aether.
Walk softly upon forgotten paths, where moss cloaks memories,
silent guardians marking boundaries between the lost and the remembered.
Regrets written in invisible ink,
linger upon the ink-smudged parchment,
forever unwritten nor read.
The stillness echoes through the abandoned corridors,
reminding us of our transient places in the mosaic.
Here, in the ghostly embrace, we are but shadows,
living unworry amid the echoes of solitude.