In the beginning, silence was a canvas. A space where... every flicker of thought weaves in and out, creating fractals of understanding. One wonders how noises become... distances. Fractal patterns folding into each whisper of the wind.
Years of study reveal that silence has texture. Layers driven by... the absence of sound can whisper louder than a scream. In this realm of quietude, the listener... finds patterns emerging in unexpected places, an echo of the unuttered.
To engage with silence, one must first embrace the element of... waiting. There lies a paradox here... as waiting becomes a part of the silence, it contorts into a fractal dimension of... expectancy. Do you see how each moment consumes the next, expanding infinitely?
Consider this: imagine a silence that stretches beyond comprehension, layering itself over forgotten memories, as if... time itself folded into a clock whose hands have rusted away. Within this void, the fractures begin to shimmer with potential, each fissure hinting... at narratives untold.
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