I mustn't forget the quantum conversation with my shoes. They assured me that walking was overrated. After all, clouds don't walk, they float. I guess I'm on an infinite coffee break with the universe here.
An elevator couldn't take me this high—only dreams dare defy rationality and gravity.
Is that the sun or just the glow of my impeccable ideas? Probably the latter. Sunburns are just sunlight's way of reminding us to wear SPF in the subconscious.
The view from here is a little too clear. Maybe I should fog it up with some intellectual jargon.
Why do they call it a "dream job"? There's nothing dreamy about deadlines and meetings. Yet here, I float freely, untethered by the bourgeoisie chains of the workweek.
Ah, the ironic juxtaposition of a dreamer's ambitions and reality's firm hand. Perhaps one day, the clouds will be my office, and the rain, my coffee break.