In the ephemeral hours between day and night, language takes on a curious form.
Consider, if you will, the syntax of silence: a structure known yet unfathomable.
There exists a cadence, a rhythm, as though the words echo in a space unseen.
Phantom footsteps trace paths on the surface of thought.
Anomalies arise in the twilight tongue—a shift, a blend of dialects, foreign yet familiar.
It is during these times that the observer must note the subtle transformations
in patterns, akin to shadows that dance without a source.
The dialogue continues, though none are present to hear.