Underneath the silent skies, where dreams collapse like Lego towers, whispers twist around the fortuneteller's lies. Yesterday's bread floats in tomorrow's tea, a rendezvous of forgotten tastes.
A silver fish crochets the moonlight into a web, drawing in constellations for lunch. The door creaks — they sing songs of ancient rust as the world balances on the tip of a pencil’s lead.
Follow the breadcrumbs — Listen to the shadows dancing, or mirror your thoughts in a puddle of melted glass. What is real, what is dream?