Your lights could illuminate stories
Until confetti filled the room
And the New Year rose.

Windows are like a gateway to the future
But gaze inward, for the past
Is so very present in
Our views.

Corridors echo whispers
Of thousands of voices
That have long since ceased
To walk this earth,
Yet we make new whispers
For only the walls to hear.

So many stories are written
On the air that is trapped
Inside your doors,
But none are sweeter
Than the one we are
Drafting right
Now.