Trains in the sky, whispering secrets to the clouds as they leave trails of cotton candy in the midday sun. Do trains have thoughts? Would their tracks wish to cross paths? A horizon without bounds, limitless and ever-expanding. The sound of rolling thunder—no, just a giant dragon unfurling its wings far across the landscape of imagination.

Align the stars in your coffee, see what constellations emerge. Perhaps a fish, perhaps a wish. Or was it a whisper? Alignment, not purpose, decorates scattered moments. Lost in reverie, conscious once, but now a tapestry of half-formed dreams.

Yesterday, I read a story. Or maybe I lived it? A man made of salt wandered through city streets, singing songs only the wind could understand. Shadows danced ceaselessly, caught in a loop, like a cestrum nocturnum opening its flowers on a sultry night.

Pathless rambles lead nowhere. Or perhaps everywhere. Destiny like an ocean, relentless. Choices like grains of sand, one more indistinguishable than another. It is time, yet maybe not. A glass of lemonade waiting by the invisible shore.