Silencing a song from a scene
far, far away, an old man sits
comfortably by the window, a
blanket in one arm, a white candle
in the other. A quiet murmur
escapes from his lips, as he
recalled the days of golden
light, careless songs escaping
from the corners of his
He stayed there, the dust nearing
the window, a soft pillow tenderly
sleeping along the edges of his
shadow. A tiny smile plays in
the twinkle of his eyes, as he stared
out the window, the melodies
cascading within his
He loves them. He misses
them, though he could do
nothing for them. To bring them
back for eternity. Though he still
wanted to hear them






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