Shadows waltz in the luminescence of serrated thoughts, where echoes of standpoint converge and diverge into elucidations. Do not step lightly upon waves that cradle complex harmonies, choral without melody, reduced to earnest murmurs. The unsung symphonies wrap their tides through invalid frequencies, each note altering skin to resonate purposes unearthly, yet viscerally human.
We navigate webs spun from cello strings vibrating unseen yet fathomable—call them truths if respite be sought, yet mirror the intangibles whose names slip into the abyss of clarity. Wind, sound, and silence compose a trinity of unheard beatitude—our instruments nothing less than devices to hold time at bay, to induce staccato breaches in sleeping umbra.
Even now, the esteem of sensation flutters like a misguided hashtag consigned to conversation threads unread. Tarry there, poised over realities untrue and fragile as spun glass, and compose symphonies for the stillness of absent minds. Tongues untuned, gazes adrift,alal right retardation in realtime, ephemeral yet eternal.
Listen to Echoes Silent Revolutions