In hollowed halls of memory, a melancholy refrain, Echoes of what's lost, a haunting, mournful strain, A symphony of longing, that whispers through my mind, A bittersweet reminder, of what can never be defined. The silence is a canvas, where shadows dance and play, A somber melody, that only heartache can convey, The ache of absence, a hollowed space, a gnawing pain, A yearning that persists, despite reason's vain attempt to explain. In this emptiness, a strange beauty resides, A melancholy music, that the heart abides, A symphony of memories, both bitter and sweet, A requiem for love, that's lost, a final, mournful beat. The music of absence, a haunting, ethereal sound, A reminder of what's gone, a sorrow that's profound, It's the echo of footsteps, in an empty, hollowed space, A longing that remains, a heart's persistent, aching pace.