the ceiling fan spun tales of forgotten yesterdays, or was it tomorrow? whispers from the drain, they spoke in tongues, of clocks and swimming pools brimming with orange whispers.
just outside the streetlamp's halo, she danced with shadows, feet kissing cobblestones littered with star dust. "have you met the cat who speaks in riddles?" he whispered, blinking slowly.
lost in ink and paper mazes, a voice murmured "the keyhole sees all, but remembers nothing," as raindrops tap-danced upon window's edge.