Suspended in the Perpetual Cycle

Are cycles, truly circles, or malleable ovals shaped in bendy lines that twist truth into something gritty, subdued? Flour. Water. Mix. Boil. Bake. Who said circles were round? Better off elliptical, off the edge, spirals out within a linear wave.

Did you feel the pause? Between breaths, arrowed thoughts, silences shifting shoulders to the pinched whispers in twisted alleys. Roads unwritten harvest harried riders blur with nonchalance. Seek untruth.

Reflections—pale, glossy water ripples—merge fragments of selves skimming silently dissolved echoes past again and again. Eyes blink in distracted rhythms, stop. Time once spoke. Did you listen?

Follow the rhythm of chaotic stillness and silent screams absorbing walls-built truths to reflections lost, not broken. Find them.