In the periphery of muted echoes, we find the edges of whispered thoughts. Shadows cast by ideas not yet voiced, reflections of paths untaken. Do the edges speak, or do they listen?
The unheard, a symphony of silence. Scribblings on the slate of time, a canvas unpainted.
Reflect, if you will, on the nature of edges themselves. Are they lines that divide, or boundaries that whisper promises of what could be?
The margins hold secrets, the spaces between words, a testament to the unspoken narrative of existence.