In the quiet corners of the evening, when shadows play as friends made by circumstance, we find ourselves knee-deep in dialogues never destined to reach the light.
These conversations, more eloquent than their vocal siblings, ripple through the ether like whispers in a forgotten library. Ironically, they hold more urgency than any lecture on the art of small talk.
But alas, remember the last time you planned to say "goodbye" and ended up in a week-long symposium about the merits of pencil shavings? Ah, the tragedies of planned spontaneity.