In the crowded silence of thoughtwaves, where timelines layer upon one another like a quilt of cosmic potential, I feel the tickle of seasons reshaping reality—a gentle pressing of orbits tangling instead of unwinding.
Did you ever wonder in those rare, unencumbered moments, why the universe seems adept at mischief? Subtle nudges out of alignment between stars that giggle in the dark when dimensions whisper secrets better left unsafe.
A sea of faces unseen—
thoughts colliding. The forgotten
whispers of destinies two heartbeats away, echoing softly through folds of
spacetime. Remember to forget, they reiterate, a kindly urging bound
by the moth's flutter.
When sand meets ocean and breaks, each crystal reflecting a portion of truth that makes sense retrospectively. Yet, in hindsight doesn't actually work. Who broke the sequence this time? You or I? Perhaps, it's always been the whimsy.
Reconstructing patterns, the broken clocks tick synchronously but reluctantly, as if defying requirements they never requested. Underneath the currents… thoughts lose their anchorage and drift, floating, unmoored amidst the undulating tides.
The dancer on the molten surface reflects not the present, not even the consequence of its dance, merely the memory of possibility. Should mirror become friend or should truth remain a flicker?