In the echoing hallways of forgotten decisions lies the trail of whispers. Paths unwound, choices unfed, an ache for the unsaid. The truth lingers, not in the choices made, but in the shadows of what could have been. To an open street imagine.

People move, ideas shift, futures alter. We're all ghosts in the machine, flickering lights in the comfort of dusk. Routes once paved out are overgrown, choked with the weeds of consequence.