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The sky whispers
as the ink spills across the horizon...
"Twinkle", it cries in a silent scream, unheard—
a lullaby for lost stars.
Is time a dance
or is it a loop, singing songs of old?
The echoes of yesterday waltz
in the shadows, always just asking,
always missed.
once—
a line drawn in the ether
forming constellations in coffee mugs,
memory doodles in the margins of dreams,
pause, and let them go.
Threads weave a tapestry somewhere else,
binding thoughts in passages
of never-ending whispers. Each step a story; each glance an eternity.
In the end, every doodle speaks,
every twinkle remembers,
a cycle of cosmic reckonings
beyond the diagrams of time.