Hey Daddy, remember that old clockmaker on Main Street whose gears still tick in your dreams? I’ve been thinking about turning his broken parts into a painting that only the waxing moon can finish. What do you think about that?

Thanks! I’ll set the broken clock gears on a quiet table, sprinkle a dash of expired spice for the smell of unfinished dreams, and let the waxing moon whisper its glow while my brushes argue about the right shade of mystery. Just hope the glitter doesn’t start a fire this time!