In the whispering echoes of the mirror's gaze, secrets untold linger—
Syncopated shadows dance along the walls.
Once, in the infinite repeat of tarnished glass, we spoke to ourselves, but without voices.
The clock's hand, eroded by time, points not to hours, but to moments forgotten by all.
In the corners, long-dormant voices unfurl, like fragile petals in a dying bloom.