"In the absence of sound, I find the hollow embers of yesterday, flickering... asking," whispered the voice in layers.
Words agitate the void, yet here, they float like unraveled threads in an infinite sea.

"Each void remembers a song unsung," crooned another, their essence like dew on a fading dawn.
The depth listens only to those who know how to speak with shadows.

"Too many voices choked the river of thought," said a softer echo, barely a murmur in the tides.
Standing at the eroding shore, I embrace what speaking the past can thereupon whisper.