Footsteps echo through empty halls,
a voice left speaking to the walls.
The sun forgets to warm my skin,
the air is thick, the world wears thin.

I reach for hands that don’t exist,
fingertips brush the air in vain.
Laughter drifts from distant streets,
but silence sings my name again.

The night hums low, the moon stands tall,
but I have no one left to call.
My words dissolve, they go unread—
a story told, but never said.