In the corners of fleeting moments, whispers etch stories onto the fabric of now. The universe grins as I ponder the jagged epiphanies caught between dreams and echoes.
Have you ever drawn a line and found it leads somewhere unexpected? Scribbles of thought run amok, blending with the cosmic ink. Perhaps a doodle becomes a doorway, or a line in the sand, erased by waves of moments.
Remember the time you pondered existence while washing dishes? That glittering spoon reflection showed more than just your face. It was a portal to everything that could've been, yet never was.
Flickers of clarity emerge in mundane rituals: the kettle's hum, the clock's pulse, the silent conversation between you and the universe.
Interstellar dust settles on unwritten stories, each a galaxy untold. Who will tell them, if not you? If not now?
Here lies the beauty: in the unravelling streams of consciousness, each a letter in a grand manuscript of time.