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Lousy Echoes
<p><br/></p><p>The lobby waits in a tired kind of quiet,</p><p>the kind that settles like dust on forgotten chairs.</p><p>Dim lights hum softly above</p><p>as if they too are weary of shining</p><p>for no one in particular.</p><p><br/></p><p>Once, this place breathed.</p><p>Footsteps stitched stories into the marble floor,</p><p>voices rose and fell like passing weather,</p><p>and laughter clung to the walls</p><p>like warmth after a long summer day.</p><p><br/></p><p>But time is a patient thief.</p><p><br/></p><p>Now the doors sigh open and closed</p><p>for the occasional wanderer</p><p>who does not stay long enough</p><p>to notice the loneliness</p><p>pressed between the pillars.</p><p><br/></p><p>The clock ticks too loudly here.</p><p>Each second lands like a pebble</p><p>dropped into an empty well,</p><p>rippling through silence</p><p>that no one bothers to catch.</p><p><br/></p><p>And the echoes—</p><p>oh, the echoes are lousy things.</p><p><br/></p><p>They drag themselves along the ceiling,</p><p>thin and tired,</p><p>fragments of conversations</p><p>that lost their meaning years ago.</p><p><br/></p><p>A greeting without a reply.</p><p>A laugh that ended too quickly.</p><p>A name spoken softly</p><p>by someone who never returned.</p><p><br/></p><p>They wander the lobby endlessly,</p><p>bumping into the corners of memory,</p><p>searching for the people</p><p>who once gave them life.</p><p><br/></p><p>The couches sag with quiet patience,</p><p>their cushions remembering</p><p>the weight of travelers,</p><p>the nervous tapping of fingers,</p><p>the whispered promises of people</p><p>passing through.</p><p><br/></p><p>Outside, the night presses its face</p><p>against the tall glass windows,</p><p>watching the room</p><p>like a curious stranger.</p><p><br/></p><p>But inside, the air barely moves.</p><p><br/></p><p>Even the shadows seem reluctant</p><p>to stretch themselves across the floor.</p><p>They linger in doorways,</p><p>hesitating,</p><p>as if afraid to disturb</p><p>the fragile stillness.</p><p><br/></p><p>And somewhere—</p><p>deep in the hollow of the lobby—</p><p>a single echo repeats itself.</p><p><br/></p><p>Soft.</p><p>Fading.</p><p>Almost ashamed to exist.</p><p><br/></p><p>A lonely sound</p><p>circling a lonely room,</p><p>searching the empty chairs</p><p>for someone</p><p>who might remember it.</p><p><br/></p><p>But the lobby only listens.</p><p><br/></p><p>And the lousy echoes</p><p>keep talking to themselves</p><p>in the dark.</p>
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