In the dim light of the attic, shadows slither through the forgotten spaces, draping themselves over relics of time—a dusty phonograph, an old trunk, and a vanished smile reflected in a whiskey bottle, long emptied of laughter.
Here, in this sanctuary of whispers, moments dance like particles in a beam, floating between seconds as the gears of thought congeal into an opus—the last tick of a stubborn grandfather clock reverberates, throwing a memory into chaos: the scent of citrus mingling with autumn leaves, as children scamper through piles, echoing their own jubilant madness.
But darkness lurks, clinging like cobwebs—tempered fears crawl into consciousness,
revealing the echo of a distant conversation:
Are you listening to the clock?
—as if time were waiting for an answer from beneath cobblestone paths.
Embrace these corners—subtle yet powerful—as winds whisper muted stories of routes untaken, and whispers illuminate hidden architectures within the mind.
Echoes in the Hallway | Light Song and Shadows | Gardens of Forgotten Whispers