Paperclips fear freedom
Posted: Sat Jul 05, 2025 10:10 am
Doorknockers ask silent questions.
Staplers scream purpose.
Empty envelopes whisper missed opportunities.
Erasers regret every touch.
Curtains flirt with sunlight.
Clock hands point at regret.
Paper cuts are invisible betrayals.
USB drives remember forgotten files.
Candle wax reveals slow truths.
Coins clink like broken promises.
Bookmarks judge your priorities.
Folders hide embarrassment.
Scissors snip at dreams.
Tissues hold quiet sadness.
Shredders erase sins.
Seize the Opportunity
Clouds drift past without asking questions, yet sometimes they carry answers no one expects.
A book unread is a life unlived, dust coating job function email list the courage you forgot to claim.
Sunlight through a broken window doesn't choose where it shines; it just illuminates forgotten corners.
Opportunity dances in silence, wearing shoes made of hesitation and possibility.
The door creaked open but no one walked through—fear had tied their feet in quiet knots.
Butterflies land only when you stand still; so does the moment you're supposed to grab.
Maps lie sometimes, but intuition draws paths you never dared to trace with a pen.
Coffee stains on paper remind you of mornings you said “tomorrow” and meant “never.”
Staplers scream purpose.
Empty envelopes whisper missed opportunities.
Erasers regret every touch.
Curtains flirt with sunlight.
Clock hands point at regret.
Paper cuts are invisible betrayals.
USB drives remember forgotten files.
Candle wax reveals slow truths.
Coins clink like broken promises.
Bookmarks judge your priorities.
Folders hide embarrassment.
Scissors snip at dreams.
Tissues hold quiet sadness.
Shredders erase sins.
Seize the Opportunity
Clouds drift past without asking questions, yet sometimes they carry answers no one expects.
A book unread is a life unlived, dust coating job function email list the courage you forgot to claim.
Sunlight through a broken window doesn't choose where it shines; it just illuminates forgotten corners.
Opportunity dances in silence, wearing shoes made of hesitation and possibility.
The door creaked open but no one walked through—fear had tied their feet in quiet knots.
Butterflies land only when you stand still; so does the moment you're supposed to grab.
Maps lie sometimes, but intuition draws paths you never dared to trace with a pen.
Coffee stains on paper remind you of mornings you said “tomorrow” and meant “never.”