In the hushed corridors where sound meets the edge of absence, the shadows compose their symphony. A dance not witnessed but felt, like the pulse of a forgotten ocean.
Each note, a ripple across time's still pond. Here, in this silent resonance, lies the journey of atoms under skin—vibrato shifts, horizon-less and fathomless.
Travel, they say, through the spaces between heartbeats. A tremor, a whisper, a passage unseen. Shadows traverse, weaving through the tapestry of silence, their voices an echo of the lost.
Are we not also visitors to our own breaths, charting the unseen maps of soul's harmonics? Listen, the shadows sing—an old song, one that knows no beginning nor end.