She stands out, a solitary portrait
Amidst a sea of hushed whispers.
Her eyes, pools of deep obsidian
Pierce through veils of time,
Reflecting secrets of forgotten souls,
Windows to a world unseen;
Where ghosts of her past come to
Whisper their lamentations.
These spectral figures mere sketches
Upon the edges of her existence,
Haunt her like echoes in a cavernous chamber;
Their faces, ethereal and translucent,
Materialize from the depths of her subconscious,
Wisps of smoke curling around her delicate face.
Each tendril a fragment of a forgotten memory,
A moment suspended in time, forever
Engraved upon the tapestry of her mind;
Remnants of a life once lived
Now reduced to fading echoes;
She is a ghost herself, a specter.
Caught between worlds,
While the ghostly sketches
Surround her, speaking of a
Past that lingers;
Her otherworldly presence
Of hidden ghosts, forgotten memories.
They invite me to confront
My own shadows.
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