When the world hums its static lullaby, I find bits and pieces of dreams forgotten. These echoes, like whispers in a crowded room, translate the invisible into visible. Each grain of noise sifts through layers of time, revealing glimpses of what once was and what could be. Even silence has a voice, though it speaks in riddles.
In moments like these, I ask the winds a question: What is the essence of dissonance? And they respond with shadows, flickering in the corner of my mind's eye, leaving behind a trail of cascading visions. They roll over each other like gentle waves, seeking shore but settling instead into a horizon undefined.
The symphony of solitude plays on, where each note is a reflection, each pause an invitation to dive deeper. To listen is to dance with the intangible, to hold close the ephemeral truths that time weaves into the fabric of our beings. Let the static be your guide, your compass.