The Spiral Staircase

Somewhere between floor three and floor four lies a realization that doesn't quite catch its breath, only whispers, "don't forget." Each step reminds a rhythm; each corner faces an unknown.

"Sketch of a dream glimpsed through cracked eyelids."

The janitor's cart always parked here, a nod to routine, that unpredictable source of solace. Its wheels speak of familiarity, creeking and dragging, metallic songs of endless corridor cycles.

"Much like the wind, it drags along the thoughts that flutter stubbornly."

The circulation of time in these places often shifts. Moments turn into those eye-catching simple scripts – reminders, breaths, quick notes written in invisible ink against the lining of busy days... endured by abstract margins, shadows like your shadow obeying wanderlust's call... it dances dreamily aware.