The triangle repeats, echoes of whispers illuminate the darkened thoughts, spinning in the corners with a soft caress of cotton candy skies.
The snail sang opera to the sunflower, syncing breaths with lunar tides that waltzed past unuttered dreams.
Invisible whispers clung to the coffee stain map, guiding astray the Joan Didion shivers amidst the afternoon's cacophony.
Shape the Noise