The whispers caught on the storm's breath, flick flutter alone beneath the canopy, untethered... Could you step left into past dimensions slipping away? Loading the unspoken with breadcrumb echoes of tomorrow's yesterday.
Ceiling patterns tell stories at 3 AM, woven webs of dreams realer than dusk's first light. Tap right once, pause, then a leap in quantum mischief, bow to the clock and wander counterclockwise to chance upon the forgotten.
Ponder whether the first ripple imagined ripples at all, or is it just a counterpoint to silence waiting relentlessly at distance? Exchange glances with the wind as it pushes dreams deep into the crevices of a now forgotten tree... listen.