"Do shadows reflect the light, if the light is never there?" she asked, voice wavering like a distant echo.
A voice, barely audible, spoke of islands hidden beneath time's quiet surface; my ears unable to capture the name of solitude.
Among the whispers rose an unvoiced question: "Is the song of existence a melody, or merely silence learning how to chant?"
In the dream, all the spoken words converged, a chorus of unheard certainty. The melody began, and with it, the universe expanded inwards.
Symphonies of the Unheard