"The wind carries secrets," they murmured, tracing invisible routes through the dusk.

By the old office building, where the latte stands once buzzed with warmth and chatter, now lies a hushed echo, a residue of beliefs untold.

Sometimes, shadows appear without form or face, cast by the faintest voice, lingering in the corridor of imagination. These specters wear regrets like cloaks, weighted and whispered into existence.