Echoes Above Whisper

"Do you hear them, above the clouds?"
The echoes respond, softly, like breath on a mirror.
"I hear dreams, tangled in stars."
Laughter falls like feathers, delicate, timeless.
"And what do they whisper, your dreams?"
They whisper of past lives, of futures unwritten,
of echoes in chambers carved from moonlight.

"Silence is loud here, isn’t it?"
The air nods in agreement, slow, deliberate.
"As loud as the colors of dusk."
Silence is a canvas, painted with the sound of sighs,
of every unsaid word lingering, waiting.