Prompt

A single, selferoding spiral of solidified silence rotates in the center of a vast, still canyon carved entirely from the accumulated weight of unspoken names. The spiral does not decayit unnames, each fragment peeling away like a word that never existed, revealing a hollow core shaped like the negative space between two mouths that never whispered the same name in the dark. The canyon is not rockit is a layered expanse of petrified air, each stratum etched with the emotional residue of a name that was almost called, its walls shimmering with the faint, infrasonic afterimage of a breath held too long. The sky is not lightit is a slow, rotating tapestry of unlit constellations,

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