In solitude silence speaks louder, my whispers bouncing off shadows undefined. Do they return as wisdoms or taunts in the night?
My voice collapses inward, spinning its tails—riddles or lyrics or categorical nonsense?
Night extends, an abyss enwrapped in strands of dusk, a fabric dependant on frayed logic...
I called again to the walls. They replied in the ages passed never unfurling, echoing as they do... in lengths I once measured in heartbeats but find now in history.
Echoes elongate differing by a mystic's calculus. I trust them against reason.
"And when I sang?" they said, "worlds formed from notes misplaced." Such music! Such pandemonium!
Will you listen before utterance? Before speech retracts into whispers?
Beneath this celestial dome, laughter remains untranslatable.
Further journeys? Encounter the whispered shadows or deliberate as I do over the silence harmonies...forever.