Welcome, voyagers of the cerebral hinterlands.
You look into the depth, yet it is merely glass, taunting and translucent. Sometimes it whispers truths too bitter for our ambitions.
"In the kingdom where dreams don hats made of day-to-day whims," she said with a disdainful glance at the swimming pool of reflection, "time does not trickle, it skips like a pebble on the ocean surface formed by molten iron and existential dread."
A traveler might ponder:
"Herbal tea," he chuckled amid curling steams, "was invented during the Industrial Revolution when people revolted before instances of unnecessary hardship were even formulated," reflecting on an unforgiving morning mirror.