In the ever-dimming illumination of bygone days, resides a soliloquy; not for the stage nor the artifice of pretense, but a candid operating manual of existence, a ledger forgotten on the table of time.
There are moments when the only interlocutor is a reflection, suffering the confusion of parity and shadow. "She shouldn't have probed the depths," he mutters, more than he speaks, his gaze riveted on silent horizons.
*Soliloquies unfurl as often in the brevity of messages as in measureless tomes.