These shadows linger, touching whispers of what once was.
The chair creaked. Did someone sit there before me? I ponder.
Murmurs of a girl by the window, knitting stories into silence.
Her laughter, perhaps. Or the echo of something else?
The smell of rain on concrete, remnants of a forgotten walk.
Footprints on paths untaken, steps reverberating into quietness.
Books stacked high, their spines whispering secrets.
I can't remember the titles. Or maybe, I never knew.