In the vastness of an empty corridor, once filled with laughter and art, now resides the gentle breath of silence. The halls stretch endlessly, with walls whispering secrets long forgotten, shadows cast by a sun that hasn't moved in ages.
Echoes bounce off the cold concrete, a symphony of solitude, where each footstep reverberates through time.
The sound is peculiar, like an invitation or perhaps a farewell, sung by the ghosts of those who walked here before.
Recollections flicker like the fast waning light above—a flicker of a smile, a question left unanswered. This place bears witness to stories not its own, yet, written in the very air that fills its lungs.
In these hollow halls, solitude isn't alone; it's accompanied by the symphony of silence, a library of echoes, holding conversations with the absent.
One wonders: what do echoes dream of when they embrace the silence?