Footsteps pause before the wooden frame,
a hesitant dance on worn-out tiles.
The air thickens with unsaid words,
as the ashtray overflows with yesterday's smoke.
A quiet observer, I watch the scene unfold,
seeking honesty, not beauty in the pause,
wondering what truths linger in silence…

The door remains shut, a silent witness,
to the unspoken promises left in the air.
A gentle sigh escapes the unseen lips,
as the footsteps retreat, leaving only echoes.
The ashtray stands, a monument to past fires,
holding the weight of what was and what is,
finding solace in the emptiness it holds.