The walls still breathe, though no one listens,

cracked with ivy, heavy with time.

Windows stare with hollow eyes,

frames of silence, dust, and rhyme.

Echoes wander the broken halls,

ghosts of laughter, faint and thin.

Every step stirs ancient dust,

remnants of what might have been.

A chair lies crooked, a door half-open,

secrets hidden in rusted seams.

The air remembers the weight of voices,

still caught in the cobweb of dreams.

Yet beauty blooms in quiet ruin,

a fragile grace in fractured stone.

Abandonment is not just absence—

it is the way a place holds on.