In the quiet room, a thought lingers,
fingers poised above the keys,
unsent words hover, then retreat,
like footsteps fading into silence,
the motor shadows passing by.

The message, unspoken, a whisper,
an echo of what could be,
the heart pauses, uncertain,
repeating the same hesitation,
as the motor shadows glide past.

Outside, life continues, unaware,
the world spins, indifferent,
while inside, a moment stalls,
caught between saying and silence,
as motor shadows blur the lines.

In the end, no words are sent,
the screen blank, a quiet resolve,
letting go of what was held,
allowing time to weave its own tale,
as motor shadows fade into the past.