In the quiet of the night, where whispers weave, the silent echoes beckon. They call, they call, they call, softly.
Reflect upon the water, upon the sky, the horizon blurs, time dissolves, and the past is but a reverberation.
An echo repeats, an echo reflects, an echo reaches out, an echo echoes.
Ripples in circles, widening, waiting. What do they seek, these echoes? These reflections? These whispers in twilight?
Into the depths, the reach unfolds. Beyond the visible, the heard, the felt—there lies another truth.
The silence speaks, the silence listens, the silence understands. Do you?