Morning mist once carried the scent of scrambled eggs from nowhere in particular. Today, it just carries the echo of sunlight cutting through the grayness above.
The clock tower chimes three times, well past its intended noon declarations, halting as the third echo clashes with honks from nowhere; time still remembers, or perhaps is just stubborn.
Create every morning. Do not let forgotten machines of yesterday hesitate to define your actions. Remember those who left behind countless spreadsheets and endless lines of code.
The sea murmurs words we’ve all heard, like when we were kids pretending to find something profound in the shore we'd never understand. Maybe we still are.