In the corner of the room, a voice murmurs, "Did you see the stars in her eyes, or was it just the reflection of something lost?"
"After all this time, they still dance," she replied, her gaze lost in the echoing void.
Softly, like the pages of an ancient book turning by themselves, "The clock runs backwards on Tuesdays, but only in the presence of emerald shadows."
The old man chuckled, "Have you ever tasted a thought or felt the whisper of a color? It's a peculiar sensation."
"I once dreamed of a world where silence sang," came a voice from nowhere, drifting like a fog.
Below the surface, "There's a cat in my hat, but only when the moon is full and the skies are purple."
The wind carries secrets, "And yet, we forget them all, like names lost in the sands of time."