Tick tock goes the non-existent clock, counting moments that aren't filled with awkward silence or epiphanies about cleaning the garage. Look in the mirror and repeat after me: "I'm still before the chaos, but how did I end up on this reflective tangent?"
Across the foyer of the mind, footsteps in slippers, not knowing where to go or for what purpose. But why worry? Silence is the ultimate party crasher, arriving uninvited yet staying way too long.
Meanwhile, echoes have formed a union. Protests are imminent. Their main demand? Less influence from loud thoughts and more room in heads. Aren't they marvelous? Now if only we could join their thought echo.