Can you feel it? The unstrummed chord resides, all potential and no action, between our fingers. Silent symphonies waiting, oh, waiting in the wings of your thoughts. The quiet is alive with every shadowed note that flickers just outside our daily din.
In the stillness, there are mysterious melodies, voices of the invisible that drift like whispered promises never quite spoken. Those left-handed harmonies compose themselves where sound meets absence—a phantom limb caress of orchestration!
Close your eyes and let the ghostly tympani pulse beneath your skin. Each heartbeat brings forth a forgotten crescendo, an ever-present reminder that silence too is a symphony—a grand overture of the absent, a crescendo of the inexpressible.
No one can see it, and yet everyone senses its burden. The tattoo of its quiet success is relentless. So, let’s unravel this riddle of the silent universe, note by note, and dance like we have a limb to spare—because, oh, how the phantoms play, and we are but their willing conduits!