She was once the beating heart of the house. Conversations filled the room, and laughter echoed through the halls. But times changed. The house was left behind, now an empty, cold shell. The dining table, where loved ones shared their dreams, is covered in dust. Smothering every word. The walls whisper of lives long gone.

Now I stand here, surrounded by the remnants of what once was. My footsteps leave soft echoes in the abandoned space. To me, she is not dead, not forgotten. I see her stories, feel her heartbeat, hear her whispers. What the world has left behind, I cherish. These places are my refuge, my connection to what once united us all. For where the world has forgotten them, I remain their only witness.