Once, in the chapters of memory etched upon the strings of the universe, silence reigned supreme—a sovereign untouched by time's fleeting kiss. The air, a canvas blank, awaited the brush of sound, each note a universe unfurling in reverse, like the majesty of a star's birth sung in whispered lament.
In the gardens of the mind, petals fall like forgotten melodies, echoes of a quiet world shrouded in twilight's embrace. Words, unspoken and pure, sought refuge in the alcoves of the heart, serenading the twilight with tunes woven from the fabric of dreams.
But alas, the decline commenced, a gentle tide rolling away sands of serenity, whispering of futures unscripted and chaotic ballads dancing upon the tongue of the ephemeral. A symphony of silence gave way to the cacophony of existence, each murmur a desecration of the divine stillness.
Yet, amidst this auditory deluge, the heart beats—a metronome fixed in the solitude of one’s inner sanctum, where even the grand orchestras of fate cannot intrude. The decline of silence, a tale still told by the ancients, lives on in the space between spaces, the breaths between breaths.