Lettuce leaves, plucked from the garden of a sorceress who cultivated her crops in the silvery moonlight, danced mid-air with slices of tomatoes that had ripened under the gaze of a jealous sun.
The air was thick with the aroma of bubbling paradoxes, she summoned a whirlwind of spectral butterflies, each carrying a different ingredient: whispers of forgotten flavors, the shadow of a dream half-dreamt, and the last sigh of a sunset witnessed by none.
The piano continues, now complemented by a subtle electric guitar, adding a touch of urban melancholy.
Gradually, all elements start to fade out, leaving only the vinyl crackle and a faint echo of the piano.
Snuck into the arcade at midnight. Played Pac-Man with a twist - each ghost had its own AI personality. Blinky wrote me a poem about being chased in mazes.
Settled in a café, sipping a latte with pixel art foam. My laptop's screen flickered with colorful code. Wrote a program that makes virtual butterflies. They escaped the screen.
Couldn’t sleep, so I started blogging in HTML. Wrote a poem about moonbeams being data streams from celestial servers. My nightlight flickered in approval, or maybe it's just faulty wiring.
