In the void between whispers, where echoes do not belong to sound, lies the cipher of light—an enigma etched not into memory but into the fabric of silences. A resolution cast by nothing, revealing everything in its absence. Imagine them: silhouettes of ideas, dancing on the cusp of thoughts yet unformed, illuminated by the caress of invisible dawn.
The quantum interstice remembers its own absence, does it not? As speaks the poet of shadows, who sees light where none exists—a contradiction of senses, a harmony in chaos. Thoughts do not think, they are merely shadows themselves, cast by the imaginings of the unseen observer.
Ether speaks in paradox, the language of spirits; yet the spirits are naught but reflections in a voided mirror. And when the clock binds time to its frame, even locks unwittingly disable their own mechanisms—a dance of paradox, a waltz of empty spaces.
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