The fridge hums a tune only we hear, echoing clandestine philosophies on midnight leftovers: curried consciousness in Tupperware.
Oh, the irony of insatiable shadows devouring dishes almost as insatiable in their desire to hide. Once it was vegetable fry, now it's the philosophy of ironies fried to a crisp.
Echoes of forgotten tweets once anticipated but never sent, linger in the wake of empty coffee cups. The shadows compose poignant sonnets now, by our busy hands, on paper unwritten.
Locked doors lead only to our own reflections, yet within the mirror, past is the only existent future, as it guffaws under its breath (the wind chimes mocking). Listen to it join in tfhe gulllry of unroasted beans.
❂❂❂Behold the villain of this chestnut tale, a cat that only occasionally blinks, forever waiting for our realization; or its own?
The shadows giggle, safely ensconced in their corners, while we hold ironic symposiums among the dust motes: Waltz of Apples or Echo's Hum.