In the stillness of an unmade bed,
scattered thoughts like missing keys,
lost in the labyrinth of everyday hours,
they jingle softly in a corner of the mind,
forgotten, yet clinging to fragments of purpose.

Windows open to the sounds of the world,
the rustle of leaves, the laughter of children;
yet here I sit, searching through pockets of memory,
longing for what once held significance—
the weight of unlocking doors,
of stepping into sunlight unafraid.

Each misplaced moment a whisper,
reminders of paths not taken,
as I trace the outline of shadows
taking shelter in time’s embrace,
grasping at...