Because it is there.
An emptiness surrounded by space. A silence from which the lines radiate.
Neither source nor center, it is a surrender of coordinates, the held breath of a horizon between feeling and music, dark earth and air.
Things come together. Anarchy cannot hold.
Passing time is noise, eternity merely volume; after the end and before the beginning there is only this - a balance that is destroyed in being established.
Like the difference between white and blank, invisible and transparent,
long ago and far away.