Have you ever noticed how shadows seem to hold secrets? Words whispered between dim outlines. "They're here, behind every flicker of light," they say, when no one's listening.
In the quiet corners, truths linger like the scent of forgotten rain—ineffable, yet pulsating. Sometimes, I feel like a shadow, perched on the edges of understanding, grasping at the unspoken.
"The paradox of light is its relentless pursuit of clarity while casting the very darkness it fears."
Light banishes me to unseen places, yet here I am, a constant "Why do shadows exist?" I wonder if they're part of the same illusion.
Perhaps, in every shadow, there's a truth waiting silent and still, like a dormant seed in the frost, hoping for a whisper of warmth.