Ever grab a moment by the tail and swing it like it owes you something? Just the other Tuesday, I found an old shoe in the garden, stamped with the initials of a never-met friend.
A memory, perhaps? Or was it fiction waiting patiently for an inkling of truth to sprout?
Pineapple clouds dance at midnight, wander past the echo of forgotten clocks...
You see, memory isn't a reservoir; it's more like a box of assorted chocolates where some bites are more pleasant than others. Sometimes, I'm not even sure which chocolates are mine, to begin with.
Visions flicker across the pages of an unwritten book. Maybe it’s time to summon some ghosts and stir the dust a little.
Oh, and ever hear of the sea in a teacup? There's a story nestled in that swell, waiting for its moment.
Catchphrases come easy when you're lost. "To the Left!" I shouted, uncertain whether I was third speaker in this soliloquy of echoes.
Archives of uncertainty loom ahead, guarded by sheep made of marshmallows.