Between trails of static, we journey whisper-tongued, elusive thoughts threading through the filter of existence. What if shadows lie beneath your breath? Hovering, they lack substance... yet feel substantial.
The tree of noise bends; each leaf trembles, echoing solitary figures adrift in their own soundscape, yet intertwined by nature’s cryptic design. Time is the breath pooled in stillness—how often does silence sing?
Encrypted message: ALTO CUMULUS FLOW... REVEAL INSIDE: "You don’t find the sea; you sometimes find your own shadows in it."
Hover over for secret:
Perhaps the answer is not in the questions...