A room lies empty, sunrays weaving through dust motes, crafting patterns on the floor. Here, in the silence, the echoes of laughter linger—an unseen presence, a memory not yet quieted. I sit in the remnants of a palpable affection, each breath a love letter to the invisible muse that haunts these walls. In the hollow space, every sigh reverberates, every heartbeat murmurs against the stillness.
Shadows dance with the touch of evening, painting stories on each surface, unspoken words, whispered secrets. A gentle breeze stirs, carrying with it the scent of forgotten roses, their petals lingering in the air, soft like a lover's caress. You step into my mind, a silhouette against the backdrop of solitude, your presence felt without form, your touch an ethereal wisp.
Time weaves its thread through these moments, tying loose ends with delicate knots, anchoring the intangible to the tangible. In this embrace, the walls remember the warmth of voices, the melody of laughter, the quiet harmony of two souls intertwined in the tapestry of creation. Will you return, perhaps in another breath, another sigh, to this wisp of a room filled with shadows and light?
Echoes in the Corridor