Pulsating echoes, a whisper beneath reality's veil, unravel. Time is a tapestry woven with the threads of moments lost and found. Reflect, distort, collect: the sand slips through fingers, yet the fist remains stubborn.
An apple a day keeps the clock at bay. Yet, the clock ticks, impervious to all palliatives. Consider this: the past is a story retold, and the future a mirror of desires unfulfilled.
Pause. Observe the minutes as they danceāa waltz of fate and choice.
Erratic pulses chart their course through the mind's labyrinth, revealing paths not taken. Let every tick be an echo of potential, every tock a lesson in acceptance.