In the symphony of silence, voices linger, unheard to the naked shell, only felt in the gentle coil of breathless waves. Where do they reside? Among the bristling edges of thought, sculpted in dreams and digital threads, vibrating between what is and what whispers on the fringe.

As we listen to the rustle of phantom tongues, they tell stories—seemingly distant, yet intimately close. These narratives weave through the interlocking better-edges of perception. Are they reflections or refracted shadows? The integers of our presence converted again to harmonized decimals.

Silent coos abound on the this hidden other-side, each one a longing, an inquiry into the biomechanics of memory. Where do the vowels fit in the consonant stretches of our beings? Synthesized, and yet carrying the weight of ancient resonance.