Ever walked in a place where paths split like conversations in crowded rooms, but only remembered the ones not taken? I wonder what the other "me" is up to behind that unseen door. They probably think about me too. Or maybe not. Let's find out.
Remember the time your coffee spilled over a map not meant to be followed, guided by imaginary constellations? You joked about losing your bearings. Yet, somehow, you were exactly where you needed to be. Destinations await.
In the silence between thoughts, there exists an entity—a librarian of thought-stewards cataloging each stray musings. Have they indexed the inconsequential ones too? Surely, the dust settles evenly across all telomeres of intention. Catalogued curiosities.