She walked along the seamless stone,
A world of dark, a world alone.
Until a hush, a breath, a faint reply,
as if someone watched her passing by.
A figure waited near the wall,
soft as dusk before nightfall.
A silhouette of gentle grace,
half-hidden in that hollow space.
"Hello," the girl said with a smile,
breaking shadows for a while.
"Who are you, sitting here so still?"
Her voice a ripple, soft yet shrill.
I:
The figure blinked, then whispered low,
"Why ask… if you already know?"
Her tone was calm, her gaze withdrawn,
like fading stars before the dawn.
The girl paused, then nodded slow—
as if the truth was hers to know.
She stepped a little closer then,
like greeting an old friend again.
"Then tell me… why are you alone?"
her question warm, her voice half-grown.
"Why guard the dark and stay confined,
behind these walls your hands designed?"
I:
She tilted her head, eyes pale and bright,
glancing toward the muted night.
"For here I'm safe, and here I'll stay,"
she whispered in her quiet way.
"No noise can reach, no danger near,
this silence keeps my heart clear."
The girl looked round the endless stone—
the vast domain of being alone.
These walls were shaped from solitude,
from nights of fear and thoughts subdued.
"Do you not tire of being still?"
the girl asked with tender will.
"Do you not wish for light or sound,
or voices warm to gather 'round?"
I:
She closed her eyes and breathed in deep,
as if remembering something steep.
"This place is mine," she softly said,
"a refuge built inside my mind.
The world outside is far too loud…
I'd rather live beneath this shroud."
The girl drew near with softened pace,
a gentle look upon her face.
"These walls you hold are strong and true…
but it can shelter too much gloom."
I:
She looked away, no words to give.
There were places even silence could not forgive.
But the girl simply smiled, warm and small,
as she touched the trembling of the wall.
"You don't have to leave," she whispered through,
"For I only wish to sit with you."
I:
And in that hush of shadowed air,
She breathed a voice too soft to hear—
not spoken loud, not absolute,
just a quiet shift in solitude.