Echo

Nobody says you can’t
say them. Nobody says
you can’t remember,
rehearse, or repeat them.
Nobody says anything new;
anything new about anything.

Nobody records the silence;
nobody recalls the fall, or
tries to tell and tell again
the never-ending tale.

This is the emptiness we
live and inhabit. These are
the unstruck keys; these
the discordant chords.

Every sound, almost always,
everything we hear is
fading, is almost inaudible;
everything, at best,
is only an echo.

—————[|||]—————
NaPoWriMo Day 26 — Repetition
———[||]———

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