"Bid the clock to fall upwards," whispered the ancients, as every tick cascaded skyward, leaving time adrift in a boundless sea.
Hold your breath at the peak of silence, where words become particles dancing in slow motion, realms of comprehension known only to those light enough to soar.
To converse in this realm, listen to the echo of yesterday that bounces back like a forgotten whisper
in a dreamscape untamed.
Each half-sentence is a trampoline for thoughts, dipped in gravity's elusive syrup.
Interact, if you dare:
Venture further into the abyss of understanding here. Or perhaps the orbiting thoughts there.