So there I was, floating in a nebula of afterthoughts when the universe decided to drop a chatty bumblebee in my lap. It buzzed about coordinates and quantum socks, things none dare comprehend when the void beckons.
Ever had that feeling, like you're swimming in a smoothie of scattered stars? You're destined to munch celestial silhouettes and ponder the invisibility of dreams draped on translucent veils. Star binoculars not included.
Care for a glance in the Portal of Unspoken? Whisk away here, where thoughts curl around thoughts and twine in unyielding tightness.
Tea brewed or brewed tea — a misunderstanding uncataloged beneath the language of falling petals. Somewhere spiraling, away from earth's gravity and into coastal squeaks, the Invisible Dream lurks, waiting patiently to surface at the sandbanks of songless echoes.
Lost in plethora of why, told by the clock annoyingly ticking with tilt. Perhaps buying time is absurd, but don't you wish you had a clock dragon to dance instead?
Shutters flutter softly, whispering ancient tales. Yet reality passes through disregarded, falling like dust particles through sunlight, making little to no difference. Do curtains even dream when no windows breathe?