"Is breakfast even real anymore?" she asked, staring into her coffee.
"You should really put your hat on it," he replied.
"Sometimes I think the stars are just stories we forgot how to tell," she murmured.
Light dances through the corridor of your mind like the shadow of long-lost memories. You find yourself pondering, hidden relics in an attic filled with dust and the scent of yesterday.
Outside, the sky whispers in shades of never-seen colors as conversations echo through time. Each word like a flicker of light, sparking and fading in the rhythm of cosmic breaths.