I walk, head bowed, in tunnels beneath the city. Silent echoes, whispers, shadows on the walls, what do they say? Are they mine? Alone on the slim path where time gives way to stories, I hear my truth, fragmented. Nothing but these walls will remember me, if they even care to listen.
Sometimes it's hard to tell if the whispers are coming from deeper within or if they're just the ghosts of yesterday's hum. They say there was a flood once, it reshaped everything. Do you feel that reshaping, too? An erratic pulse beneath the heavy earth, an ebbing in-flow of conscious thought aware of its own pointless escape.
Streets above, life goes on. But down here? It's different. Here, the shadows breathe, and I can't sleep for fear of waking up somewhere stranger than this.