Sunlight warms the pale stone columns of the sand-coloured cloister, attempting to distract me from the surrounding emptiness, from the echoing sound of my footsteps beneath me. A Midsummer breeze rustles the gold-tipped leaves above, as wordless poems brush past my ear like hummingbirds. Rays of sunlight twinkle through the leaves like stars, as the breeze creates a whirlwind of fallen petals with a mere breath of the cooling air. I can hear my heartbeat, a rhythmic sound in tune with the silence that was once filled with song.
A statue encircled by water-lilies weeps before me in a fountain several steps away. Her sobs must have silenced centuries ago though a veil of tears continues to shroud her face. And so I walk in the stillness of an unchanging colonnade, upon cool stone tiles smoothed with age. Beside ivy-strewn columns and past a weeping statue, whose voice has long since gone out. Is this a place that time forgot? A sanctuary for the lost, for the ones afraid of change? A haven for the ageless perhaps, for the young trapped within the old, or the old stranded in the young.