Hidden within the creases of forgotten books,
the pages curl with whispers of lost dreams.
In corners, a clock ticks its confessions,
recounting stolen moments, paused lives.
A mirror, fogged and forgotten, sees what it cannot reflect.
It holds secrets of faces turned away,
their truths etched in the glass, unseen, unspoken.
Beneath the silence of wooden desks,
lies the echo of trembling secrets,
locked in drawers, wanting only a breath
to unfold their buried tales.