The machine of memories whirls chaotically. Crayons scatter across the floor of forgotten time. Shadows whisper in circular motions, like gears turning slowly.
What if whispers were loud? They are not, but they hum softly. A red ball rolls beside a pink unicorn.
Mechanical birds chirp in binary. Their wings spin like thick clockwork. Why do sticky notes fall?
The edges of reality crinkle like a worn notebook. Long shadows, thin whispers.