In the grand bazaar of life, have you ever wondered why the spoons are always bent? Perhaps it's a reflection of our own reflections, skewed and twisted like an iron knife in the mirror of irony.
Itineraries—they promise so much and deliver what? A path walked by feet shod in shoehorned destiny. Consider the festival of decisions, where choices float like helium-filled promises in a sky of What-Ifs.
What does it mean to reckon immediately? The bills of existence arrive, often late and always with interest. Souvenirs collected along the way whisper stories best left unprinted.
As your shadows lengthen in the fading light, remember: mirrors lie, but only because they care. Seek The Reckoning in the funhouse corridors of your own making.