Dust Remains

As one who lingers in the twilight, I trace my fingers across these ghostly memories lodged in the very fabric of existence. Each grain of dust reflects a moment, a heartbeat, that crumbled away into silence. It's easy to forget the warmth of a voice, the laughter in the halls, when the dust has settled over everything like a thick, impenetrable veil.

Sometimes, I wander through the old house, the creaks in the floorboards underfoot echoing like forgotten whispers. I can still see the outlines of lives once lived; silhouettes frozen in time, waiting for a breath of wind to stir them back to life. I wonder if they know they're seen, even if only through my tired, searching gaze.