In the laboratory of reminiscence, the curtains do not merely shroud windows—they obscure mirrors of forgotten instances. A rabbit hole burrows beneath the surface, and the act of peering within reveals...
A pen once lay abandoned across the angular slate of a desk not touched since 1989, encased in hazel swirls of brown. It whispered demarcations of a universe where the tetradent arrived without announcement—a notation left mute.
Consider, if you will, examining the placement of greyscale optics under the undefined terminological ceiling of 'truths.' Recorded entries in journals perused on stormy afternoons document this phenomenon periodically.
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