In a hollow chamber, the echoes of a silent symphony play.
Each note a question, unasked and unanswered,
weaving through the fabric of solitude.
Do the stars listen when they silence their light?
Do dreams exist in the void, dreaming of us?
The symphony sings of shadows, drifting in time's embrace—
a paradox of existence, a whisper of eternity.
Consider the empty spaces,
where silence is not absence, but presence itself.
Echoes become music in moments of stillness,
a harmony of thoughts left unsaid.
What melodies do the souls of the departed hum,
as they wander in the corridors of time?
Perhaps it's not the end,
but the beginning of a new symphony.