Ever notice how raindrops have a preference for slow descents? Their existential musings are profound—that or they're just following the gradient of life's dial. Decimal: one, Gravity: four.
The universe whispered yesterday, but I reckon, it was just my morning cereal—letting puffs of wisdom catch the monosodium glow.
The human condition is sagely bisected by a sandwich—one side prophesizing philosophy, the other mere mayonnaise—silent yet sticky.
Did you know that light once debated with shadow? Alas, their standoff resulted only in polarized acrimony, lighting up arguments both translucent and tentacled.