Shadows flicker across the wall, or is that the mind, seeing what it wishes? An empty room holds echoes longer than a crowded hall. When footsteps are few, the sound carries, bounces, ricochets off stark silence.
Walk, traveler. The grass beneath your feet tells stories, each blade a voice in the cacophony of stillness. Unknown paths extend, coiling around thoughts like vines on forgotten statues.
Somewhere, clock hands turn, measuring time in their silent pursuit. Do they care if you pause, reflect, or leap into the swirling unknown? Doubt it. Echoes, however, whisper truths in the corridors of empty rooms.
Captured Echoes Unseen Trails