- True wisdom never ages, it just rebrands itself in different fonts.
- If ink had no voice, would the paper still gossip?
- Echoes of pencils long gone reside in the apricot-scented binders of memories.
- Knock, knock. Who's there? Shakespearean echoes living rent-free in your cerebral theater.
In whispered phrases the invisible hand writes:
Yesterday, a flatteringly employed sentence strolled towards a haiku festival donning pink socks and a mustache—a disguise to avoid literary faux pas
Why do pages tremble under the gaze of metaphors, and why does a semi-colon never say goodbye, but 'let's grab coffee again?' It's all in the ink's molecular chaos.
Future emotions will probably have hashtags, but never holographic tears, since principally that's not ink's responsibility.
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Goodbye, Mouse Clicks!