Ever wandered the fringes of a mirage and found it humming? They say horizons sing in symphonies you can't hear but can feel. Like a gentle partner, guiding a not-so-secret dance through echoes of a landscape that's almost familiar.
It's the kind of place where conversations float in the air like pollen, unsaid words suspended in the golden heat. You might not know the words, but you understand the rhythm—the syncopation of syllables that break and stitch the fabric of silence. Read about the shape-shifting echoes.
Ever been caught between knowing and not knowing? Between sight and illusion? There's a certain art to standing on the lines, an invisible canvas stretched taut between the real and the unreal. They say it's where stories are born, not in some grand what-if, but in the quiet conversations of waves and wind. Careful, there's a whispering touch to everything.
Perhaps, one day, you'll walk on this mirage-horizon and the symphonies will find you, will greet you like an old friend. Or maybe you'll just hear me from a distance, echoing through the silence, waving. A song for those horizons.
Art and illusion, sculpted by heat and haze, fill the air with stories untold. But we whisper them anyway, because silence knows how to smile too.