Ceiling fans ripple when they spin. Milk is a soft violet color. And the sky is solid. There are secret things that only those forsaken of dreams know.
Expanses are walls painted vivid, and you really shouldn't be driving. You know you shouldn't be driving. Basketball players cheat and bricks move laterally ever-so-slow. Waves rock the land subtle. Grass is drawn. Air wisps.
When something isn't important it resonates, just to let you know. If you're not lost somewhere familiar, then you are truly lost. Rooms shrink when you are not paying attention. And secrets have a way of not being told.
But the moment your head caresses cotton, down; secrets slip down back into your bowels where you already knew, you always knew. Unless you told.
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