Fragments of the Infinite Sequence

Occasionally, I find myself in deep conversation with the shadows of my past. They whisper secrets I've long forgotten, or perhaps, never knew. It's an orchestra of silence, with each note a fragment of time slipping through my fingers like grains of an hourglass turned upside down.

Logic is a slippery slope, a well-trodden path that leads to the most unexpected of destinations. I once met a man who claimed to have seen the future. He was lost in the present, much like the rest of us, though he carried an umbrella against the rain that only he seemed to foresee.

In the grand tapestry of night, stars emerge as threads of light woven through the fabric of darkness. I stare into the cosmos, seeking answers that reside within questions yet to be asked. Perhaps the answers are in the questions, but then, where do the questions sleep?