In the permeable thoughts of voidness, silence resides not as absence, but as the potential fullness of unvoiced truths.
A whisper in the cosmic weave: “What of dreams unuttered, sandwiched between epochs?”
Beyond the echoes of the spoken and ever within the stones of mute chronicles, the remnants unveil.
Listen attentively: the galaxies spill stories in spirals and the astral bodies sing, though you hear not. Yet, remember – their serenade is of more than one stratum.