Repeating, always repeating, like the friendly ghost of conversation. You hear it, I hear it, we all hear it, but do we understand? Break the loop, or let it play—what's the secret of the sound? No secret—just a whisper, just a thought, just a moment canceled before the next arrives.
Casual, calm, and collected, like the drops of ink soaking into paper. Do you feel it? It's there, looming, levitating, slightly out of sync with the rest of reality. Whispered truths waiting patiently to be acknowledged, maybe in another time, another loop.
Did you ever wonder why the stars blink sideways? Underrated mysteries eclipsed by the gravity of mundane truths. Perhaps tomorrow's echo will reveal more, or perhaps it will become just another part of the repeated whisper.