"They say when you die, you become a whisper. But have you ever *tried* whispering in your own ear and heard nothing?"
My name? Well, it's a joke nobody's told yet: Punchlin! Lost somewhere between quips and quantum physics.
Here lies my conundrum. An afterlife full of "try to remember where you left that thing you didn't know you misplaced",
In this metaphysical abyss, echoes are all I have, except possibly this oddly comforting void. How do you measure happiness in *gravitons*?
Among the clockwork shadows, I stumbled upon relics: socks with monologues, scattered notes debating potato's *worth*,
and a mirror that reflects only your thoughts about mirrors. Self-completion or self-complication? Most days, a see-saw dilemma.
Want a deeper spit-n-squeak quantum leap? Try:
Invisible Thread
Or perhaps hear the sound of one hand...
Unwritten Manuscript