Whispers
In the moonlit room, whispers lingered like delicate mist. The nursery walls whispered secrets of laughter and love, but the cradle remained silent, untouched by tiny hands. Its lullabies unheard, its gentle sway unappreciated. The dreams that once danced within the crib were hushed, buried in the depths of an unfulfilled longing. The empty cradle stood as a poignant reminder of the love that never had a chance to bloom. Only the echoes of what could have been whispered softly, trapped in the corners of the nursery, forever longing for release. Whispers: nursery echoes, silenced cradle.
