A lone child
sings into the void
The echoes murmur sweet nothings.
The wind
whispers through corroded gates
your name is a distant echo.
In shadows, they dance:
phantoms of yesterday
their lament weaved in laughter's guise.
The silent marionette strings of fate divert our paths, yet here, laughter and lament intertwine.
Each fragment, a whisper of what once was, a phantom limb's grasp on the tangible world.
Echoes of Longing