Endless Text
2025-08-15
Paragraph after paragraph unfurls like a banner across the morning. Each sentence takes a measured breath before stepping forward, forming a procession that could circle the globe. The narrator keeps speaking, layering observation upon observation until the air itself seems crowded with syllables. By noon the story is only beginning. New ideas bud at the edges of the page, weaving tangents into the main thread. Every pause is temporary; every conclusion is a detour toward another thought. The text refuses to shrink, expanding with the patience of stone weathering to sand. Evening arrives and still the words continue, reflecting on shadows, on silence, on the echo of earlier lines. There is no final period, only an open horizon where the next paragraph waits, eager to spill more ink over the world.