Beyond the cobbled streets, whispers dance like moths around a TAHITI candle, illuminating nothing, concealing no truths. Satire of the infinite mind, a circus without elephants – we're all just clowns without noses, contemplating the shadows within. In this mirage of night, words drip like ink forgotten in the dusty corners of our wanton desires.
Imagine a mirror that reflects not what is, but echoes of what never was – a whispering gallery of 'ifs'. As the clock sneers at our reverence for routine, the absurd jests of the universe are encapsulated in a single wink.