Once upon a twice, in a time that might be a rhyme, there was a pause between sentences. Not quite a stop, more like a whisper hanging in the air, eager to be spoken but never quite getting the chance. You know, like those lost chapters of a story unwritten. You sit back, coffee cooling beside unfinished thoughts, wondering what might have filled those spaces. Or maybe you don’t sit back at all—maybe you fidget, flipping through the pages of a narrative that only exists in your mind.
In the small town where everything seems to happen except what anyone really wants, you meet characters like shadows at dusk. They're always just out of reach, just beyond the next streetcorner, fading like echoes off the walls of memory. Do you remember the girl with stars in her hair and galaxies in her sighs? She was only there for a moment, a lingering thought that could have been. Theories abound, they say, but the truth often walks barefoot over broken glass, shrugging off what we call logic.
Somewhere else, in a parallel slipstream of time, someone is pressing 'pause' on a dramatic confession—maybe it's you, maybe it's someone you haven't met yet. The pauses cascade, like ripples on the surface of a still lake. Reflections cannot be trusted, they say, but reflections can't speak either, locked inside their own mirrored worlds. Every pause, every hesitation holds a universe of possibility and silence.
So you wonder: what stories are echoing in these voids? What words are waiting, impatiently, to be spoken aloud, to shatter the quiet with their resonance? And as you wonder, a new tale begins, not with a bang but with a whisper.
Maybe it's time to write, to carve out a path through the thicket of distractions, to make room for those whispering ghosts to take shape in your thoughts. Or maybe just to let them be, to let the unwritten chapters remain unwritten, floating like ungraspable dreams in the fog of your mind.