Slipstream of thoughts untethered, hastily crunched beneath the weight of tomorrow's expectations, pixel skies above and roots grappling with existence below. Here, on the cusp of real and surreal, ideas drift... like ink in caffeine-rushed veins. The window was open โ but the world had shut its eyes.
Margins turned playgrounds for restless anecdotes, the pen wandered and wondered, sketching whispers of worlds unformed. Coffee rings blending dreams to a symphony without score, the jigsaw of constellations wonkily quilted across cardboard skies.
Starlight in a bottle, yet that bottle floats forgotten on oceans of distraction. Here lies the sense of drifting left under a lavender moon, there crossed the errant doodles of forgotten lines, bleeding slowly into time's unwritten journal...