There once was a pilgrim who had met many opinions on his travels.
Loud ones, shouted from rooftops. Quiet ones, whispered in corners. Ones painted on every wall, and ones you only heard after the third round of drinks.
And one evening he came upon a market square where, so they said, you could hear the one opinion that made all the others unnecessary.
Half-timbered houses all around.
A fountain in the middle.
And before it: a soapbox, a megaphone, and no one.
The pilgrim waited for the speaker. None came.
He waited for an audience. Two pigeons arrived, inspected the square, and concluded there was nothing here worth pecking at.
Next to the megaphone, a small black box blinked blue. It would have carried any opinion out into the world. It had not been given one.
So the pilgrim climbed onto the box himself. He picked up the megaphone. He took a deep breath. And realized that everything he wanted to say had already been said by someone else. Louder. And usually worse.
He climbed back down.
And slowly, the pilgrim understood.
Not every opinion needs to be loud.
Not every soapbox needs a speaker.
And sometimes silence is the strongest position.
This is no editorial. No commentary. No column that explains the world to you.
It is a square with an empty soapbox.
Nothing more.
So, Traveler —
There is no opinion here.
No debate.
No comment section overflowing.
In my opinion, there is nothing to see here.
Go home, pilgrim.
And the square stayed pleasantly quiet.