"What song was playing when the moon hid behind a cloud, I wonder? The clock struck nowhere in particular."
A conversation spills over the edge of the night, whispers of fractured memories reach out to brush fingertips with dreams.
"Did you see the cat that wasn't a cat? It danced atop a broken window ledge, sighing catalan verses into the stillness."
The walls listened, soaking in the absurdity as clocks dissolved into puddles of yesterday.
"Maybe it's about the triangles. There’s beauty in their unsettling corners, the way they curve into infinity and never come back."
Perhaps, we’ll find the whispers in hollow echoes where echoes fold upon themselves, unheard but always there, waiting for a curious soul.
"Were they people or was it all just the wind, patterned with laughter the moon snatched from deep dreams?"