I remember the smell of damp earth and old stories clinging to the walls. It was endless, really, these small passages beneath my childhood feet. Places where the light scarcely reached, where whispers lingered longer than they should.
In your absence, the corridors have grown quieter. The shadows stretch with a familiar ache, one that speaks of things left unsaid. Paths diverge where you once walked, each a thread woven into the fabric of what was and what could never be.
Above, the world rushes by, indifferent to the echoing moments below. Remember this space when the weight of the world presses too heavily; it's an ache akin to homesickness, the bittersweet taste of a distant horizon.
Follow the paths, if you dare. Feel the pull of the unseen gravity drawing you back to what lies beneath.
Amongst the shadows, find echoes of the memories we dared not speak aloud.