Whispers of Blue

In a room where the blues wash over like the tide, a lonely couch sits, cradling echoes of soft jazz. Plates, like memories, cling to the walls, while a potted plant dreams of sunlight, unbothered by the unfinished stories lurking in the corners.

In a room where the blues wash over like the tide, a lonely couch sits, cradling echoes of soft jazz. Plates, like memories, cling to the walls, while a potted plant dreams of sunlight, unbothered by the unfinished stories lurking in the corners.