In the folds of silence, where whispers forget their names, time scrawls its chaotic doodles in margins of forgotten moments.
Consider the paradox: a broken clock, forever right, oscillating between past and never, caught in the dance of irrelevance.
Here, amid disarray, the cosmos loses its narrative, bytes and bits scattered like stars, in an uncharted galaxy of thoughts.
Don't forget the invisible lines, drawn in ink of ephemeral light, map to nowhere, a journey in reverse.