In the dim light, a whisper traveled through the fabric of sound, stitching together timelines that never intersect, yet always share a morning coffee. An echo here. A curve there. Shadow under the almond tree.
Have you worn this hat before? The rain comes from the ocean, where cork florals twine eternally around the pearls' necks. Waves echo in the laughter of dolphins painted in blue ink, ink that spills without a cap to contain its printed hymn. Journey through the curve of the horizon; seek the old man with stories of portals.
The floorboards creaked under an unseen weight, resonating with the heartbeat of a bygone dance. Carpets woven with dreams, letting imaginations take flight across the ivory archipelago. Let the echos guide you; they are maps of unwritten prose.
Imagine seeing the future past the thin veneer of now — it glistens, a mirage flecked with time's gentle tease. Your reflection smiles back in a patina of stardust, a thousand galaxies harmonizing into a singular prelude.
Maybe. Just maybe. You are here because you never left, weaving through these labyrinths of thought again and again.