In the bulb of glass, does water ever complain? The silence within it vibrates, a secret symphony known only to its adjacent air, when it truly wants to be understood.
On days painted with the cold brush of winter, the mercury inside meticulously takes note, creeping up its column like an errand soul filing for warmth amidst an office's bitter chill—paperwork aside, just seeking solace.
A thermodynamic whisper: "Today, I am the outsider. Observe..."
Mirrors aren’t always glass, reflections not always stationary. Ever see a reflection dance in water like a mirage on its crystalline surface? Distilled truths seem vivid only within the flickering scope of flame or liquid.
Continue reseaching the obscure: