Whispers slip
through keyholes,
soft as breath on glass.
The air holds stories
that never made it to light.
Eyes glance,
but never settle.
Truths are folded
into silence,
neatly,like letters
never meant to be sent.
Behind closed doors,
the clock ticks louder.
Every sound
carries weight,
every pause
a question
left unanswered.
What is hidden
is not always dark,
but always guarded.
Here,even the shadows
learn
to keep quiet.