Celestial Crumpets

In the corners of my mind, where flavors of eternity are baked, I often ponder celestial crumpets. Not the kind that nourish the body, but those that feed the soul in unseen dimensions. Have you tasted the stars? They melt on the tongue like honey.

Each crumpet, a universe. Each crumb, a galaxy crumbling into a singular moment. The profound simplicity of breakfast with constellations. How ordinary the divine seems when slathered with butter, igniting cosmic delights.

I wander paths only visible in twilight; hidden routes painted in lunar ink. Through these paths, the air thickens with unsaid wisdom, winding around craters of forgotten songs.

Our thoughts, like crumpets, take form under the heat of existence. Some golden, some burnt, some with the sweet honey of serenity, others with the tang of longing. Each a story on a plate left out for the stars to see.

Seek the hidden paths that crisscross the mind, away from the mundane horizon. Find the whispering winds that tell tales of crumpets forged in supernova. Perhaps, in dreaming, they offer answers, baked but never broken.

I leave you with this thought: Echoes of the Void shall always await your presence, as relentless as time.