In a room cloaked with shadows
reflections whisper lost truths,
broken pixels dance on dusty screens,
illuminating paths once walked by
flickering whispers of hope.
These hidden ideals, veiled in shadows,
seek no audience, no grand reveal,
yet linger like morning mist,
quiet, unsettling in their permanence,
flashing across dim, peeling screens.
Remember when silence
spoke louder than spring rain?
Here lies the echo, reverberating
through unturned memories,
those secret paved roads of thought.