You ever just sit and wonder how clouds decide their shapes? Like, is there a hidden council up there crafting abstract masterpieces that only rainbows can critique?
Sometimes when the wind whispers secrets, I think I can hear the universe giggling. It's a cosmic joke, just waiting to unfold in the folds of time and space.
Imagine a world where gravity takes art classes and learns how to make sculptures out of light. Would every photograph then be a dimension's canvas?