In the labyrinth of silence, we find ourselves questioning the echoes. Where greetings go unanswered and corridors threaded with whispers demand the utmost of our sympathetic visions. Life hesitates at the brink of strange enclosures, yearning to comprehend meaning in
These rooms, after all, come alive in their vacancy. A painting devoid of color asks nothing yet sees entirely. Could understanding the nothingness be the gateway to understanding what it means to be
Abandoned corners hold traces over invisible barriers. If a door were to blot the horizon with absence, or pierced by shadows, would the room concede its existence? Walls define what we dismiss beneath the touch of hollow night containing stories within gaps of
Do ever connections linger beyond the peripheries that seam eternity or somewhere the fibers of forgotten remains? Maybe, if we considered visits to these contained thoughts like glass upon steep edges, we might recognize memory redirected reveals the path inwards rather than
Fragmented Whispers Verbose Stairs