When you have something to say silence is a lie

Silence often masquerades as profound, as if withholding somehow elevates the unspoken into something sacred. Yet, the truth is far less dignified: silence is a poor custodian of secrets. This work indulges in the delicious absurdity of concealment—the idea that by hiding something, we can make it disappear. But the irony is, the more we suppress, the louder the absence becomes, practically begging to be noticed.

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What remains is not the elegance of mystery, but the inevitability of exposure. After all, what could be more suspicious, more irresistibly obvious, than pretending there’s nothing there?