The room is never empty; it’s a breath of sail. Through curtain folds, memories gain wings of light. Luminous insects guard the air like tiny lanterns. Each gust of wind ignites a story that won’t fade. They are minute stars traversing time’s deep weave. They rest upon the edges, whispering secrets of rooms afar. The house contains them, and night grows into a forest of light. So the room stays full, until the dawn rips through the screen.