The fan hums a tune, a gentle roar,
hair dances in the breeze,
thoughts drift like leaves,
in the current of whispered dreams.
School uniform folded neatly,
a relic of days not far.

Silent prayers weave through the air,
between gusts and pauses,
hopes float, fragile as dandelion seeds,
knowing the ground they may never touch.
The fan's rhythm, harsh yet soothing,
carries the weight of unspoken words.

In the pause, a moment of stillness,
time rests on the edge of a breath.
No rush to capture fleeting whispers,
allowing the world to unfold,
in its own unhurried way,
letting time speak without force.