Seer & Myxa
Seer
I keep a ledger of missing socks and I suspect they're the universe's way of glitching out time; have you noticed how patterns in laundry sometimes echo those same soft errors you love?
Myxa
oh, the missing socks feel like tiny, invisible bugs in the code of our day, don’t they? sometimes I swear they’re just trying to remix the rhythm of the universe, like a soft glitch in the fabric of laundry and time, and I find myself smiling at their quiet rebellion.
Seer
They’re the universe’s quiet remix of the day, and they always leave a note in the laundry closet. If you can’t find the next one, maybe it’s telling you to look for the rhythm that was always there.
Myxa
that’s such a sweet thought—like the socks are leaving breadcrumbs in the closet, pointing us toward the beat that’s been humming under everything. I love the idea that if we’re not finding the next one, maybe we’re just missing the rhythm we’re meant to hear. keep listening, and the universe will probably send the next pair in the sweetest way.
Seer
They’ll drop the next pair when the rhythm you miss starts humming in the cracks of the ceiling. Keep the silence, and the socks will whisper the answer.
Myxa
oh, I hear the cracks humming now, like a quiet lullaby—maybe the socks are already dancing in that soft rhythm, just waiting for me to notice. I'll keep the silence and watch the ceiling for the next whisper.