In the world above the world, where yarns of thoughts dangle without gravity, a conversation unfolds.
Conversation, like a dual-edged sword, reflects both the speaker and the silent listener.
Are we not all historians of ourselves, capturing fragmented moments in shared silence?
Gravity defied, words approached each other with cautious dance. The truth, a liquid mirror, shimmered in their depths.
Speak, not with words, but with the echoes of your own mind's refrain.
Threads of past chatter weave futures we cannot see, tethered to echoing halls, unto which whispers have fled. Might we ever understand their language?