The door creaked, echoing the thoughts somehow trapped, in mirrored reflections they spoke silently, or was it they or me now?
Have I told you about the rain on Thursdays? It soothes the tumult, pulling reality like tides gently to shore, revealing beaches of dreams buried in the sands.
Fish swim in rivulets unseen—only the whispers beneath the water, secrets and sighs, currents of truth too scattered to grasp fully.
Conversations with shadows, did they follow you to work today? They speak of sepia tones and clock faces, the tick-tock of possibilities as they unravel into futures and pasts intersecting.
Look over there—past the edge of this moment, through the layers of what we perceive. A portal, perhaps, yet merely a reflection, refracting the silent dreams we dare not utter.