![image.png](https://cdn.steemitimages.com/DQmNtH9wrzcVg6QVLoTbQiPAsTv5v3rfdbxwRu1BwNzXz6k/image.png) [Source](https://inf103.com/2016/10/24/viajar-sin-rumbo/)

I search in the fraternity of absolute silence for an echo of your voice. I try to evoke some memory, but I find myself trapped in an underworld with no apparent way out.

A thousand unanswered questions seal the way to the concrete. I explore the empire of the senses, but I can't find you either.

Maybe you have been just a creation of my eternal and infinite imagination.

I continue to investigate without prejudice, questioning where I went wrong. If I conceived you as a poem, have you vanished like a rhyme written in the sands of a legacy called time?

The search becomes an introspective journey, where each attempt to find you plunges me deeper into uncertainty. The absence feels like a weight, and the silence becomes deafening.

In this labyrinth of thoughts, I wonder if you were ever real or if you only existed in my dreams. The idea that you might be an illusion haunts me, but I press on, clinging to the hope that, somewhere in the universe, your essence still lingers.

The search for your voice becomes an act of love and desperation, a desire to connect with what once was.

So, on this aimless journey, I am faced with the possibility that memory and imagination are the only ways to keep you alive.

The struggle to find you becomes a tribute to what you meant, a reminder that, though you are absent, your imprint is still present in my being.