In the attic of our minds, where dust dances in sunlit despair, resides the most curious pile of grievances - lamentations that seem to mock the very essence of being. Have you ever tried to catch a thought before it escapes, like a butterfly in a drizzle? Contrary to popular belief, a butter net is no match for the intricacies of a prismatically refracted lament.
They say time heals all, but between you and me, time's just in it for the tea. The kettle of fate often whistling away while we trot along the path of existential reconsideration, occasionally stepping in something that requires a good deal of philosophical mopping up.