In corners where dust settles, secrets linger. Not just of the animate, but echoes of the voiceless. Here, the inanimate confide.
"Once I unlocked doors to horizons, now I linger in this drawer. My shame is locking symbols, fragile as hope itself."
"Years of clutching, but I yearn for a single embrace. My seams betray the intimacy of touch, yet here, I unravel alone."
"My keys once danced to the rhythm of stories, now they rust away unsung. The ink whispers, but my pages are blank, unworthy."
"Color dreams of canvases unseen. I hide here, longing for strokes of passion, betrayed by the dullness of dry bristles."
"Once I kept time, now I unravel amidst eternity's embrace. My hands tick in solitude, mourning moments beyond my reach."