Cinnamon Whirls on Tuesday: Breakfast at noon with the clock tickling the edges of eternity. There’s laughter echoing against the walls of a memory not yet formed.
The sound of a thousand umbrellas opening, an electric parade in the forest of digitally woven shadows. Did you wear that blue jacket?
An Invisible String: Tugged and pulled, weaving red into the grey fabric of sleep. Whispered promises dance like fireflies on the edge of thought.
The taste of rainbow shadows in sunlight; familiar yet foreign, a song without sound. Ocean waves in my cup of tea...