Time, a spiraling enigma, endlessly repeating, fondling the fringes of our memories.
When the clock strikes twelve, isn’t it simply a reminder that something has, inexplicably, always happened before?
I once had a conversation with a toaster— it revealed the deepest secrets of sliced bread.
Why do we chase echoes in hallways where every door resembles another?
As the leaf fell, a wave of nostalgia whispered, “Did it not fall so yesterday?”
Click here to visit the hallway of whispers.
Or perhaps you'd prefer to journey to a separate loop where thoughts intertwine?
Feel free to slide into a world where every click feels like walking barefoot on familiar soil.