Imagine standing on a shore where the waves whisper your name. The wind carries laughter from a million universes colliding softly. Are you a traveler in a paused moment? A forgotten artifact of transient existence?
And yet, there’s a rhythm to it all, isn’t there? Like a clock that ticks to a tune only decipherable in daydreams. You pow-wow with the bowling ball when the tide rolls out, realizing silence speaks louder than words…Perhaps, it's all just mint and motion?
Once, an octopus told me tales of the stars while I sipped cosmic coffee. “You see,” it said, “our stories are made from the remains of a collapsing star.” I tossed back a few thoughts and the atmosphere rippled. The octopus boasted, “They think we’re just creatures of the sea, but really… we pull at the strings of fate.”
Beyond the horizon lies the unanswered question: What happens when the tides stop turning?