"It's right above the moon, just before the horizon melts away," said the lost sailor.
"Ever seen a thought in mid-air? I mean, really seen one?" she mused, stirring imaginary tea.
"Truths," he smirked, "are just lies you forgot the other half of." Under the flickering café light, philosophy seemed to brew like coffee.
"What time is it in Atlantis?", she asked with a sea-leg's charm, leaning against something completely abstract.
"A banjo?" he laughed, playfully atop a bridge of whispers, merging twilight with whimsical notes.
The sky whispered, "There's always another step above, yet you stand waiting for shadows to catch up."