There is a quiet place beneath the vast echoing expanse—dark skies resting upon the horizon. The stars whisper secrets not meant for waking ears, a reverberation that tingles in the spine. Alone, one feels the endlessness of space, yet the comfort of silence lingers tenderly in the air.
Skies once brimming with light, now a canvas of melancholy shadows. Stories of yesterdays hid within, echoing spirits of forgotten realms. A chair left empty, its shadow stretched long like a memory unwinding its thread.
Reflections in the dark are more than mere images; they are fragments we never spoke aloud. The room sighs, the ceiling seems to drop lower, weaving in and out of the lethargy that binds us. Among these threads, hope dimly glimmers; a candle fighting the vastness of the storm outside.
Follow The Echo