Whispering Echo

In the tight space between a breath, between the exhalations of half-stifled laughs and teetering stability:

"Banana scone,” she proclaimed, absolutely certain about breakfast and questioning everything else.

The creatures of habit hummed along, seasoning their lives with pencils and errant paper planes.

Once upon a time, in an age where socks mysteriously amassed in their dynasties of one, a fleeting echo of conversation pranced through leafy meadows:

• The lake of procrastination wobbled its convictions.
• The pear sky, sink deeper, whispered slightly louder than silence.
• Relationships like sandwiches, fulfilling till you get a stowaway lettuce bit.

If asked, the wind would sigh, "Ah, only on Thursdays... preferably after lunch."

©️ The Department of Unnecessary Whispers because every serious whisper deserves its bylaws.