In the stillness of a space unclaimed, there lies an echo—a whisper of a song never played, yet always heard. The ♪ notes drift like memories on a windless night, each arpeggio weaving through the silence, binding the void.
Is it the music of the spheres, or merely the rhythm of the cosmos at work? We stand on the precipice, overlooking a sea of soundless symphonies. Beneath it all, an undercurrent of arpeggios, endlessly repeating.
soliloquy | coda