Paradox Embassy

It dances on the edge of tangible reality, this almost spoken word—one lobed thought, a flicker under the embassy's sputter. In this hallowed place of hypotheticals, the voice resonates.

"What if clocks could unwind themselves? Not backward, just un-unwind."
"I'm sipping minutes like tea, taking care not to steep past the zenith."
"A meeting of shadows with the sun appointed. Paradox, at its finest."

As I meander through corridors adorned with reflections and whispers, abstract truths and digital echoes slip my mind. Each step, soft-footed, absorbs my peculiar optimism.

Perhaps, none are aware of the mundane strewn across the ephemeral—perhaps they've passed by essays unpublished on walls unseen. Yet, it almost sings in an unheard cadence.

Follow the exit signs pointing nowhere:

The embassy of contradictions shall remain, a cornerstone of conversations fading in the twilight hours.