In the heart of every bustling street, where shadow meets neon, I find the symphonies composed of silence. The silence echoes louder than voices, reverberating through concrete canyons, an unseen conductor orchestrating stillness.
Each step down the pavement a note, each flickering streetlight a pause. Here, in the forgotten notes of the urban soundtrack, lies the music of things not said, of emotions dancing in the spaces between busy minds.
Do they hear it? The symphony of the city that plays when the mind stills, a lullaby sung by the absence of sound, punctuated by the soft whispers of the wind. Voiceless Dreams linger beside.
Sometimes, I speak to these silences, hoping they might answer with truths wrapped in the restraint of urban echoes. But they remain steadfast and tranquil, affirming, perhaps, that some dialogues are meant to be one-sided.
Hidden Crescendo awaits, beyond the visible layers of brick and tar, where the melody of the city breathes.