"Listen kid, I know the grains of espresso can be rough, but I've held your secrets since that rainy Tuesday. Your worries become steam when I'm heated, it's true."
"Zap at me like Sheldon does with a burnt thumb, and suddenly I'm a golden matinee hero. You scribble tales in the back of my spine, and the ink tells more than you think."
"Quite a noise I make sometimes, isn’t it? You almost expect orchestra from these grinding teeth of mine. I know every taste flicker of your breakfast. Noor's almond croissant ukara was intriguingly nutty, just hush or wave a time past it."
Mug rain, diary dew, and grinder oil—none of them lies straight, they just readjust your containments when tides remember shifting secrets. Want to hear another? Perhaps Diary's Secret Unraveled or Grinder Whispers.