Àwọn Àmì-ìwé Tí A Fẹ̀

Over time… the tunnels begin… to feel different… Not because they change… But because the mind… starts to fill the silence… In a place… where light is limited… and sound is uncertain… Thoughts… become louder… And stories… begin to grow… They are not written… Not recorded… Only spoken… quietly… From one worker… to another… Often at the end of the day… When the body is tired… and the mind… drifts easily… Some speak of footsteps… Soft… slow… Always just behind… But when t