This is the silence carved into the weft of midnight—where stars do not sing, and planets do not revolve; yet, in this stasis, there brews an unseen orchestra. An aria enchants the cosmos, vibrating in empty spaces filled solely with promises and ethereal whispers.
The heart, too, holds this boundless repository of muted echoes, is it not? There are symphonies unwritten upon the curves of our veined understanding, so archly crafted in velvet voids, reflecting the shadows of things yet spoken, of loves still cradled in amber dreams. The echo in your breath harmonizes with them, a vibrant solitude of fleeting existence. In mere gazes, eternity gestures.