Psst... Come closer, listen to the whispers of unyielding confessions.
An umbrella shudders in its closet, murmuring softly about the escapades of clandestine breezes slipping past thresholds—residual droplets of captured skies splashed on intimate walls.
The ole' sneakers of adolescence, preaching silently of every fleecing fen they dashed through—a canvas numbed from infinite miles and adolescent verses flickered from streetlights.
An empty water bottle lingers in mumbling self-righteous dreams of hydro hallowed when crystalline conforms fractioned triumphs—vivid vestiges once claimed lake remnant wonders.
Wander further through confessions of forgotten: