Whispers in the Void

In the rooms where shadows dance upon the walls, I hear them. Muted voices, echoes of a past unseen, lingering like clouds over the persistent fire of memory.

Footsteps trace the perimeter of forgotten halls, each step a note in an unplayed symphony. They compose a reflection, a study of absence, of presence departed yet never truly gone.

---

Beneath the crumbling facades of yesteryears, an eternal dialogue reverberates, murmurs exchanged with the silence that listens, intensifying the solitude.

A whispered secret: the chamomile and the shadows.

---

Once, we were here, and now our voices linger on the cusp of their own deafness, like the scent of rain on parched earth.

In this endless corridor of whispered nothings, find solace in the trace: the silhouette manifesto.