Did you ever pause and wonder if reality is like a haphazard necklace—they seem tangled as sunlight pierces through the dewdrops of a complex web?
Just the other night, while sitting on a freshly unwrapped cloud of whimsy, I found myself asking if the clouds tell stories to the setting sun.
Imagine chasing shadows in a golden root cellar, hearing echoes of what never was—do they sound like laughter from the water?
Often, I ponder: Is the universe held together by cosmic gumdrops and the occasional sideways glance of a sleepy star?
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