There's a kind of sound that lingers in the air, heavy like the scent of rain before it falls, or like coffee brewing in the quiet early hours. It’s the sound of forgotten echoes—whispers of things that could have been, or perhaps should have never been.
I stand at the edge of a great abyss, the chasm of unspoken words spilling into the void. Here, sound bends and warps, creating phantom melodies that dance just out of reach. A voice calls, familiar yet distant, like a needle tracing the contours of a lost dream.
In this place, reality blurs. The mirages are made of sound, illusions that shimmer and fade, leaving only traces in the air. Have you heard the tales of the old prophets, speaking in riddles that resonate long after the words have faded? Their lessons are hidden in these sonic dunes.
Sometimes, it’s the mundane things that haunt us the most—like an empty chair at a table set for ten or the smell of someone's perfume lingering in a crowded room. These are the moments that echo through time, each reverberation a reminder of presence turned absence.
And so I wander, through this desert of forgotten dialogues and muffled harmonies, searching for clarion truths amidst the din. Perhaps one day, the mirage will solidify into something tangible, a story written in the language of silence.
Muffled Voices | Wind Tales