What if the echoes of our choices begat choices we couldn't choose to see? This, my friend, is the gentle whisper of possibilities, colliding harmoniously across unseen dimensions.
An avocado and a spaceship once shared a meal. The result? Smashed ideas, covering unimaginable voids, where time does not wove yet merely contemplates. Whose perspective matters anyway?
Here's a paradoxical idea: Okay, so if yesterday never happened, does it make tomorrow an impostor of hope, or a mere notion?
In the currents of time, let's remember: silence speaks only to those willing to listen.