In the quiet corners of each day, voices drift like autumn leaves, murmuring secrets to the wind.
silent dreams brush against conscious thought, leaving marks that can only be seen with the heart's eye.
People pass, their stories woven into the fabric of silence, threads only visible in the mind’s loom.
an orchestra of unspoken words, harmonized and discordant, plays beneath the surface of every glance.
The empty seats at life's table whisper tales of presence felt in absence, shadows of friends unseen but deeply known.
within each pause, a symphony lies dormant, waiting for the silent conductor to raise a baton of introspection.