In the stillness of a forgotten room, the laundry basket breathes secrets of tangled garments. It keeps count of mismatched socks lost in the pockets of time. Its voice is a chorus of crumpled fabric longing for freedom.
The mirror, ever-watchful, divulges tales of reflective truths that do not echo back. "What do you see when you look at me?" it often asks, but objects always whisper in silence. Mirrors speak in shadows and reflections.
Beneath the veneer of stillness, the cold, plastic clock ticks away at eternity. It knows when the world will decide to stop spinning, and its whisper is a soft tick-tock lullaby full of craven dreams.