Whispered Frequencies
Echoes of whispers, shadows in the corners speaking in tongues forgotten by suns and moons alike. Their voices weave through the fabric of night, like threads of that which was never said, or too softly to be heard. A symphony of silence, playing in the hidden spaces between beats of the heart.
“I remember...” said the shadow, and the walls shivered. Was it a memory or a longing? Who could say when echoes carry stories of other lives, of paths not taken yet felt as though they were ours all along?
In the forgotten attic, dust danced in beams of fractured light while cobwebs held the weight of untold truths. The clock ticked, but not in this realm, as whispered frequencies ticked in time to a different rhythm. Perhaps under the floorboards, under the earth, beneath the stars, a deeper truth lay in slumber.