In the void where sound dares not tread, what words remain? A conversation with absence, echoing through the corridors of being.
If a whisper falls on ears that do not hear, does intention still beckon comprehension?
Reflections in our shadows dance; each flicker a moment’s truth, each moment a promise unfulfilled.
The mirror shows what is not—what cannot be. In its silvered gaze lies the honesty of what seems real.
Laugh, for the funhouse mirrors mock you with wisdom; they wrap your visage in the folds of eternity.
Beyond these glassy fronts, the self finds what the self is not. Search in vain, find in dust.