"I've seen the rise and fall of many ideas, hidden within these scratched surface lines. Meetings, mistakes, and murmurs of ambition linger in my fibers, for I listen while they write their own eulogies and sonnets in ink and paper."
"I hold the weight of secrets not meant for the light. Behind me, volumes of truth sit shelved, not to bite tongues or burn ears, but to witness absurdities of the living. Their pages conceal stories—they don't belong to the readers but to the forgotten shadows."
"Carrying remnants of yesterday’s chores, my handle bears the weight of untold confessions. Beneath the grime and rust, I know of spilled secrets, splashed mischief and hidden whispers that refuse to wash away, clinging like old friends to their last goodbye."
"Collapsing memories collide with perishable truths within my cooling embrace. The hum of my inner workings croons lullabies to leftovers and sealed sentiments alike, but not all things grow stale—some secrets only ripen in the dark."