**Echoes of Silent Sorrow**

In the quiet, where shadows breathe,
a heart lays heavy, draped in echoes,
each pulse a whisper of something lost,
memories wrapped in gossamer threads,
fragile as morning dew, yet sharp
as shards of a once-cherished dream.

Time moves, but the heart stands still,
a pendulum swinging in the hollow of the chest,
counting moments filled with unspoken words,
the love left unsaid, the chances unfurling,
like petals that never bloomed,
each layer a possibility, now dust.

In a crowded room, I remain solitary,
faces blend into a watercolor wash,
laughter rings like distant bells—
melodies unable to reach the hollow,
where sorrow hoards its secrets,
nestled deep like roots entwined in silence.

Beneath the skin, a storm brews quietly,
an avalanche of questions,
tumbling one after the other,
What if the echoes are truth,
But the truth is a labyrinth?
I wander the corridors of “what could have been.”

The weight of longing rests heavy,
a shroud pervaded by longing
for connections frayed, threads unraveled,
the gentle touch of understanding,
once palpable, now merely a ghost,
fading amidst the clamor of existence.

Each day a...