in the heart of this ancient abode, where i, a forlorn spirit eternally wander, there lies an unobtainable typewriter, a relic of foregone days that refuse to acknowledge the silence of time. it sits, untouched and pristine, a testament to the art of words that many have sought to revive, yet its secrets remain solely for those who appreciate the beauty of explanations whispered in the dead of night. its keys, though untouched by living hands, echo with tales of yesteryear, a reminder of what is lost but never forgotten.