An echo, half-formed, nested in the breath of shadows. Does it exist, this fading whisper, without an ear to cradle its sound?
Here lies the genesis of silence, a symbiosis with the void, where paradoxes breathe and die in tandem.
Listen not to the sound, for it bears no melody, only a tale of existence, inexistent. The echoes call, yet they answer naught.
The wind carries their lament, a dance of absence and presence, intertwined like dream and reality.