Beneath the weight of a sleepless night,
I hear the echoes of silence calling-
not empty, not hollow,
but filled with the unspoken confessions
that tremble between the ribs of the world.

The silence is never still;
it breathes, it expands,
it carries the sigh of forgotten prayers,
the laughter of those who no longer remain,
and the whispered questions
that were never answered.

In its vastness, I walk barefoot,
through corridors made of shadows and memory,
where each step resounds
like a broken violin string
crying for the music it once played.

The echoes stretch like rivers,
bending around mountains of regret,
washing over fields of fragile hope,
and I follow them-
hungry for meaning,
thirsty for truth,
wounded by absence.

Silence is not absence;
it is presence disguised,
a mirror of what we dare not say,
a hand reaching out from the unseen,
a reminder that every void
is simply another language of the soul.

And so I gather the echoes,
each one a fragment of eternity,
and stitch them together into a song
only my heart can hear-
a song not of loss,
but of the secret beauty
that only silence has the courage to keep.