Once upon a silence, weekdays wore echoes like new shoes. The symphony of secrecy, chaotically composed amidst unpunctuated thoughts, invited no audience and received no applause.
Witty in jest, the silent conductor waved arms fashioned from yesterday's dreams. Each droplet of imaginary sound cascaded into morning cups of unspoken wisdom.
Little did they know, the chickens were right: "Quack before breakfast, rule your own universe by lunch." An age-old fable unravels as you straighten invisible ties and polish shadowed whispers. Peek a little closer:
As shadows murmur, remember, your quietus stands just at the edge of an unwritten choral finale - an orchestration of awkward giggles for an audience made of luckless shadows.