They say you can feel it, the silence when the words long forgotten hover just above your tongue like moths before flame. You stretch out into the spaces words used to fill, but they remain absent, like summer evenings that slip into autumn, unnoticed until too late. The dream of them lingers still, like echoing laughter on a winter day, though you can't recall when or why it made you smile.

Walking through these depths, each step resonates through layers of dust collected over years. You remember the afternoons spent with shadows, tracing their forms against the sunset, crafting stories woven with golden threads of hope. Yet now, these silhouettes stand still, unmoved by the passage of time, untouched by the fantasies once breathed into them.

In the corner of your mind, a hint of melody plays softly—a tune once cherished, now a whisper. You find yourself listening for its notes, mapping them against the familiar terrain of yesteryears. But the music is gone, swallowed by moments unnoticed as they slipped into the deep, leaving behind only the promise of a song yet to be sung.