Ever wonder where the hedgehogs go at midnight? I swear they gather underneath the old oak tree, whispering secrets only the moon understands. And the shadows, oh the shadows. They dance like they're from another world, a place where clocks run backward and whispers tell tales of forgotten dreams.
You know that feeling when you're walking through a foggy park, and the trees start to look like familiar strangers? You blink, and they're gone, just silhouettes in the morning mist. Can you hear it? The echo of laughter from somewhere far away, or maybe it's close. Who knows?
Sometimes, I think I see them in the corner of my eye, those fleeting memories that slip through your fingers like sand. And then, just like that, they're part of the landscape, a mirage in the corridor of time.
Random thought: What if pigeons are actually spies sent by the government? I mean, think about it. They perch quietly on ledges, watching with beady eyes, taking notes for... something.
Weaving in and out, like a dream, like a song that can't be finished. Have you ever noticed how the alleys twist and turn, leading to nowhere and everywhere at once?
But wait, there's more. Have you seen the new exhibit at the museum? They say it's cursed, but isn't everything these days?