In a sunlit house scented with flowers. 

Years went by, The house began to decay. its walls cracked.

But the coat still hangs there, suspended from a branch rooted in memory.

Entwined with the crimson threads of love and loss.

A wall.once passed through time. In so long just a wall, its patterns tell the stories of lives that fell silent, Yet became eternal.

A window into a house that no longer exists, Yet still breathes.

Every brush of color, Every crimson thread, Every painted tile is a secret from a past only a lover can understand.