In the absence of sound, the essence of thought reveals itself, like shadows dancing on the edge of twilight.
Who speaks in the echoes of silence? The void listens, waiting for a name to call its own.

A question posed to the dark: Why does the silence sing? You may hear the answer in the spaces between.", yet the echo remains nameless, a song without a source, resonating within the hollow of your chest.

Wander through the silence here, where whispers weave through the fabric of time, threading the needle of thought onto the loom of being.

Ask not the silence for answers, for it only knows the question. And in knowing the question, you become part of the unknown.