Stream the chaos upstairs, rewind, the whispers wait.
A conglomeration of rivers mixed with skies braiding clouds, confetti becomes tomorrow's memory, lost in translation under the unyielding gibbous. Did you feel the wire trickling by?
Truth operates in whispers bypassed by audacity contrived like spontaneity, carved calamities. The fog sits comfortably here with its chronicle unstowing practical catastrophes.
Arbitrary proclamations disguise a harmonious mayhem, seeking solace in the rustling data of memories unheard, places unseen, forever roaming.