The mirrors reflected other mirrors, can you hear that?
In a room where thoughts wandered, footsteps walked the fine line between articulation and incoherence.
I once observed a shadow contemplating the meaning of existence.
Can silence echo? Only if you ask it politely.
Society persists in suggesting subtlety—it’s ironic, as all the loudness wraps itself in disguise.
Did you ever wonder if echoes can forget? Or perhaps they remember too much, swirling in an unforgiving loop.
In a world speaking in two dimensions, float around the edges of our constructed reality.
Here the unsaid slips cautiously, begging for breath. We invite it in. Collective whispers of the uninvited.
To echo is to educate through absence, a seminar on futility.
Let’s not forget the forgotten. Do you hear that? A pin drops in blissful irony.