The clouds whisper secrets of tomorrow, where the shadows twist like tales of old. Somewhere, a cat plays chess with a mermaid... Do you hear?
The clock sings, its hands a melting echo and here, silence tastes like hollow trees—broken, yet longing for the sky.
Form behaves like liquid in a bowl of dreams. Perhaps you expected a passage, or a journey into the absurd?
Do not seek reason, for it is a mouse somewhere hidden in the labyrinth of profound indifference.