Silence dwells in the bowels of comprehension, where logic intertwines with the forgotten shadows. What lingers beneath the surface? What surplus of empathy spills over, silently washing away the brick walls of solitude?
In every murmur reflects a reality untold, within each tremor a secret waits. As we sink deeper into the introspective abyss, light flickers less steadily, revealing truths obscured by a veneer of blind certainty.
Contemplate, for the void respects no momentum, carries no pretext. What do you echo into the silence? And what in turn reverberates back, shaping you anew with whispered mysteries?