The words not yet uttered into speech move between us, trembling like a leaf, touching our lonely shores like sound passing through a empty cave. Deeper than silence, we go, farther away than the beyond. Anchored in the moment of now and present, where only the tangible sits. Love needs no voice to express itself. It is not to be a vassal of euphoria tearing at my heartstrings. It carries its song in the flutter of a bird’s wings; in the rustle of leaves; in the sound of the wind.
In a vast sea of silence a drop of sound falls from a languid moon, hiding between tall trees, whispering to a wave, which further commands many ripples to stir a storm in the ocean. Such sounds can be full of meaning yet having no shape they are not slaves to time neither the ethics of constraint. Sounds have some of the qualities of mysticism, veiled and formless, always on the edge, yet never falling over it. They do not have the impetus to quickly step into other’s spaces and invading them. Seeping, with a gradual ascent, a silent osmosis in a plant, without force, follows one’s own instincts