Beneath the shrouded canopy of what once was, whispers of the forgotten linger, tracing the outlines of voices untold. Shadows speak not in words but in the language of movement, the dance of ephemeral forms that weave through the fabric of time.
Do shadows remember the light, or is their existence defined solely by absence? In the silence of their being, a voice as old as the hills murmurs a truth: that the unseen is as vital as what lies in visibility. Each flicker, each tremor, carries a secret unspoken, a lesson hidden in the folds of darkness.
In pondering the shadow, we confront our own silhouettes—formed by the light of experience, shaped by the unseen forces we often ignore. What is the shape of your shadow, and what truths does it guard in silence?