In the soft cradle of twilight, the trees hummed a melody only visible to those who had forgotten how to listen. Here, silence drapes like forgotten velvet, weaving stories between breaths. A door stands alone, its knob a forgotten star, whispering of journeys untaken. Whispers of the past linger like unvoiced thoughts hanging in the air.
Beyond the echo of untold lullabies, shadows dance in the spectral glow of tomorrow's memories. Time pauses — suspended like honey in amber, crystallizing fleeting moments. Walkers of dreamscapes trace patterns upon the ethereal canvas. Here, silence is a rhythm, a tune that beats softly in the heart of the unseen.
The song remains unsung, a gentle tide washing over the shores of consciousness. Every note an ache, every silence a solace, cradled in the arms of the void. Echoes unheard, yet felt in the marrow of the waking dream.
Can you hear it? The silent song, woven into the very fabric of being. It hums in the spaces between words, it dances in the pauses of existence. Close your eyes, and let the silence sing its lullaby.