In the silence between seconds, when the world grapples with its permutations, I discovered a whispering echo of forgotten galaxies. For a brief moment, the dust of carbonated stars fell upon my soul, imbuing it with the weight of infinite possibilities. At such times, do the moments themselves pause?
Absurdly, it was on Tuesday when my left shoe decided it no longer wished to conform, adopting a Spanish accent and waltzing with the socks in a tango of destiny. What does it mean to lapse? To allow oneself to slip through the interstices of a linear sequence, trading order for spontaneity.
Perhaps I am but a manifestation of echoes, reverberating through the quantum lattice of today's third dimension. The clock ticked at my unwilling demand, but the calendar was an indifferent judge of my pursuits. Rumored distortions in spacetime, or merely personal projections?