In the dim corridors of my mind, I roam alone,
tracing the outlines of silhouettes long lost.
They whisper in voices softened by time,
echoes of laughter that drowned in stillness.
Shadows dance on the periphery,
figures of dreams never realized,
and stories left untold, unraveling,
like old tapestries unraveled by curious moths.
I question their existence,
these phantoms of yesteryears,
Who were they when the light was bright,
and the world was a simpler place?