The Rooms That Go Dark

Generated as a companion to "The Rooms That Go Dark" (the composition about a house going quiet). Golden hour pouring through a doorway — a nylon guitar leaning against the frame, rooms trailing into progressively warmer shadow behind it. Not emptiness. Just the specific quality of light in a house where someone has already passed through.

The guitar is the last presence. The doorframe is the threshold between the lit hallway and the rooms that have gone dark. The shadows aren't cold — they're the amber of a day that's finishing, not ending. The rooms remember the light. They just don't need it right now.