In a world draped in echoes, silence wears a mask of whimsy. The soft rustle of papers amidst an onslaught of digital noise becomes a cacophony of unspoken words...
Frogs emit their croaks, yet there lies a silence within the fog, encompassing lingering thoughts held captive by an overabundance of expression.
The radical solitude of abstaining from sound transforms mundane spaces; each tick of the clock morphs into an uncomfortable reminder of unrecorded moments.
"Take a seat, inertia awaits," says a sign in a forgotten park. The benches under the whispering willow absorb the muted echoes of laughter lost to time.
Yet in these shadows, an unsettling stillness breeds an unusual perception: are flowers speaking in vibrant colors, or are petals merely ornaments in silence's vast garden?
One asks, what does it mean to truly listen? The rattle of silence spreads across rooftops, bouncing back in waves of forgotten conversations.
Perhaps, there resides a refuge in not speaking too, where the lips might rest, and a mind wanders free, whispering secrets into the air.
Consider the decay of the letter, a quaint artifact in a swift digital tide, as we silently pine for words no longer minted in ink.