Echoes Without Sound

The clock ticks in a corner where dust no longer dances. Each tick a reminder, a lullaby in the stillness that fills every crevice in this shared silence. Outside, the world slips by unnoticed, an endless stream that rolls over forgotten dreams.

Static Lullabies

In the quiet of this moment, I hear her voice—a whisper woven from threads of time and patience. Like the waves lapping at a distant shore, it comforts in its familiarity, a song without melody yet rich in tone.

These echoes are not of a past lost but a present felt, rooted in the everyday—a tea kettle's whistle, a cat's purring, the soft rustle of leaves against the window. They sing of simpler times, a melody I can't place but know all too well.