The clock ticked backwards, unraveling predictability like a frayed thread. Holes opened all around to hold the sounds of distant laughter. It tasted like forgotten dreams stirred into lukewarm coffee. But what is a whisper? An echo spinning through the void, heartbeat of a rusty spoon.
Jump, they said. Dive into the colorless whirlpool of conflicting thoughts
where a smile might combust in nonsensical glee, birds might sing the anthem of plastic toys, and forever might forget its meaning.
Beware the grassy lawns that grow upside down, hovering near thresholds of ordinary reality as old newspapers carry faded newsprints of willows.
Like a butterfly in a jar, remember to open your mind cautiously, or you will find that existence is allergic to syllables left unsaid. No, do not urge the flames; they seek a scent sweeter than dusk.