The road stretches, an uninterrupted path.
Subtle cracks appear, age etched slowly.
There lies emptiness, waiting.
"Lost in layers of detritus..."
The flicker casts old shadows .
No travelers speak here; silence is company.
Just echoes of footsteps—past, forgotten.
"A whisper, there, then nothing..."
Paths converge and diverge—a song without melody.
Rusted signs point nowhere.
Here lies the essence of leaving.
"In the silence, a compass spins..."