Ever sit in a room so quiet, it begins to talk back? Like, you think you’re alone, and then you start hearing things—
These echoes in the walls, they tell stories. Stories like the one when the clock struck somewhere between time and nothingness, and you realize silence isn't empty; it's just filled with things you can’t say out loud.
"Is anyone there?" she whispered, and the walls chuckled softly.
Silence spoke in riddles, and I tried to listen, but the echoes walked away.
Follow the whispersEver left the radio on, just for company? It plays the same tune, a song on repeat, but nobody's dancing. Nobody’s listening. Just echoes, like a tape stuck in a loop.
And then, there’s that moment. The space between thoughts, where the echo finds its voice and it’s singing a tune you forgot you knew.
"I’m here," the echo hummed, "and I've always been."
Remember, solitude isn't an absence; it's a presence of things unspoken, unseen, waiting quietly in the corner, watching.
Until next time, in the hollow chambers of the heart.