The morning sun spilled through the fractured glass, casting jagged patterns on the wooden floor. Each shard held a piece of the world outside—skies clear today, trees swaying gently. The symphony played in the wind, but only silence was heard here.
Beneath the veil, whispers of yesterday lingered: children laughing in the street, distant voices blending in a soft harmony. There was music in these moments, composed in the silence of rooms forgotten, echoing off walls that had seen better days.
"Maybe it's time to open these windows wide," he thought, gazing beyond the fractured panes. "Time to let in the symphonies."
Walked Again