In the beginning, there was not an absence nor a void, but a blank canvas awaiting the first stroke of melody. Silence sang quietly, its verses hidden in the folds of time. To hear this silence as symphony was to reverse the dawn of noise, to unravel the intertwined strands of harmony woven into the fabric of nothingness.
What is reverse but a journey back to the source? The river unflows, its journey upstream becoming a dance of particles. Memories of sound dive back into the ocean of silence, seeking their primordial home where they were one before becoming many.
The symphony of silence is not void but full, a paradoxical embrace of the infinite. In contemplation, the seeker finds the missing notes, questions that arise from the ashes of spoken answers. What do we hear when we listen to nothing at all? The answer resonates as the question itself, echoing in reverse.
Melancholy, the forgotten chord, plays softly in the shadows. It reminds the listener of sweet unspoken truths, the kind that hum beneath the surface of conscious thought. Yet, it is not melancholy that defines our return to silence, but a profound serenity that blankets the chaos of transient existence.