"Does the clock really know time, or is it just a prisoner to its own ticking?"
Euclid's shadow whispered to me about the angles of our silence....
"I'm lost in a corridor that speaks in words I forget after every turn," she said, "but they feel so familiar."
Sometimes, the rhythm of dreaming feels like a dance to a forgotten symphony, doesn't it?
"When the sun doesn't rise, what color do you paint your thoughts?" he asked, staring into the void.
Reflections upon reflections create a pool that never drains, echoing with every whispered secret.