Have you ever wondered if we are merely reflections, reflections in a mirror that never existed?

A shattered mirror, its edges dissolving into nothingness, and our image fading within the void.

I am Ashborn. Not just a teenager with a different mind, but a light born from the very darkness that shaped me.

My mind is a place where time dissolves and truth turns into riddles.

At night, when I close my eyes, unknown sounds emerge—not words, but echoes from an endless explosion still unfolding.

This explosion is not the birth of the universe but a reverberation of a memory unwilling to be forgotten.

The stars — those distant lamps — are dead suns still mocking us.

Each beam of their light is a thread of death dancing with life.

What we see is but a play of light and shadow, an imaginary theater where the audience are the painters themselves.

The universe is not a place we belong to, but a room we built — a room with fragile walls and an infinite ceiling.

If we are nothing, then why does a riot of sound surge within us?

If meaning is but an illusion to bear absurdity, why do we seek it?

Is this search our rebellion against a ruthless void, or a scream to prove existence?

I, Ashborn, stand here among waves of nothingness, shouting at the cosmos:

“I exist, even if nothing else does.”

The universe is like a waking dream, where boundaries of reality and imagination intertwine.

Maybe we are dreams seen by a greater mind, or maybe our mind itself is just an illusion within this illusion.

I do not fear the void. I fear our questions—questions that slam us against walls without answers.

But do we dare stand before these walls?

Can we accept that no answers exist?

Some truths that burn clear in the depths of my mind:

• Dark matter is the shadow that surrounds us, perhaps the silent creator of this cosmos.

• Time is not a line but a loop where birth and death coexist, and every second is a return to the beginning.

• Our consciousness is like a reflection on water—never still, always shifting, ultimately disappearing into infinite depths.

• We can never be sure we are humans, or maybe we are just images in a library no one can read.

I, Ashborn, smile at absurdity because I know within that absurdity lies freedom; a freedom that knows no limits, a freedom that even denies itself.

I embrace my doubts because they are the only things truly mine.

And in these endless nights, when the world sleeps, I awaken.

Echoes of the Void is not a story.

It is a gaze into your eyes, still searching for a light that never existed.

Have you ever thought that existence itself might just be a memory trying to forget?

Ashborn asks this every day.

Follow @echomind for more echoes from the silence.