Wander into the dimly lit alley, traces of yesterday's rain cling to its cobblestones ❍. The newspaper lies abandoned, whispering secrets of unrealized futures. Something about an owl's nocturnal dance signals the start, no one remembers why; it's coded in sleep-deprivations scribbled in margins.
Somewhere a kettle shrieks but the tea sits, untouched, cold, defiant—
some clock is ticking, others wonder talking now at once shifting stories.Paths diverge where intentions rendezvous, maroon curtains sway by whispers, outside, ah, part of a plan—or maybe chance.
Pieces missing—walls interlocking with letters only a mother would understand, all positioned just wrong on the kitchen table. A man with trembling hands fumbles, never sees the answer, never—
the pattern is blurry, an endless frame framing nothingness except this: Reality, Hypothetical, Possible.
Puzzles rest under unturned stones: Curious moments quench thirsts for sights unseen in the sparkle of dew—somewhere there’s an elephant or was there ever? Echoes, they feed on lunatic whispers assembled backward, further forward yet how could there be a?