How The Echo Filters Reality

It starts with a hum, a thread unspooling through silence - soft, sure, and annoyingly insistent, like the world is whispering secrets it’s dared me to misunderstand. The first echo hits, ricocheting off the walls, and suddenly this isn’t just a room - it’s a kaleidoscope of sound, a ripple of moments reborn, sharper, louder, more alive than their beginnings. Your laugh? A sparkler snapping against dusk. My words? Half-forgotten confetti, colouring the corners where truth hides. Truth, after all, is always shy until you catch it staring back. Reality twists, shuffles its cards, pulls an ace out of its sleeve, then smirks like it planned this all along. The echo rewrites everything - makes shadows dance like they’ve known the steps forever, makes silence flirt like it’s in control, but you know it’s just guessing too. And when it fades? It doesn’t leave us empty - it leaves us cradling shapes we can’t quite name yet, hands full of questions that glow like lanterns - flickering, daring us to follow, only to vanish when we get too close. We laugh anyway, lost in the dark, as if it was the plan all along.