In quiet hours the world stands still,
A hush that bends to thought’s own will.
No voice, no song, no whispered plea—
Just silence wrapped in mystery.
It holds the truths we dare not speak,
A balm for wounds, a place for weak.
In every pause, a tale is spun—
Of all that’s lost, and yet begun.
In a world obsessed with visibility and transparency, there’s something oddly seductive about the idea of disappearing, well for me...
The Urge to Go Ghost Online: Why We Sometimes Want To Vanish from the Digital World. In an era defined by hyper-connectivity, going...
In Brighton town where sea winds blow, A man walked slow where seagulls go, He heard the waves, the rustling trees, The whispered truths...
Comments