And there she stood, an echo in sepia, casting long shadows across a memory. Her gaze, distant, searching perhaps for solace among the trembling silhouettes that danced in the flicker of an unkind light.
The conductor's baton pauses - is it hesitation? Or a moment to collect the fragmented whispers in his mind, like leaves gathering in a forgotten corner of the stage?
Windswept thoughts, a narrative unwritten. The screen flickers bluish-white, and I wonder if she dreams in color or in the muted tones of these silent worlds.
Click, clack, the typewriter's rhythm matches the heart, a syncopation of longing, perhaps...