In the domain where echoes converge with silence, is an unspoken language, not meant for ears, but for the unwitting heart, indifferent yet yearning.
Phantom limbs recall whispers, which were only shadows of syllables, tentative and ethereal constructs.
"Catch me not, but hear these words like feathers, drifting on the cusp of your understanding."
Follow the trail of murmurs in the interstitial moments, where every pulse serves as a gateway.