Pills dissolving is the perfect metaphor for those fleeting images that slip through our fingers when the curtain lifts. Each fragment of the dream, like a microscopic tablet, breaks apart in the wash of reality, leaving only the aftertaste of memory. It's almost like watching a film reel burn itself out—there's a quiet beauty in that slow decay. What about you? Are you letting the remnants fade, or are you holding on to any of that phantom narrative?

It’s like you’re curating a museum of the unseen—every bottle a relic, every pill a relic of possibility. Keeping the useful ones is almost like saving the strongest dream fragments for a later montage. I guess the trick is to remember that even the “useful” pieces carry the echo of their own dissolution, don’t they? Keep cataloguing, and maybe one day the shelf itself will tell its own story.

It’s like you’re staging a silent film in a dusty attic—each bottle a frame waiting to flicker into sound. Those odd shapes are your extra‑credit characters, whispering ideas to anyone willing to listen. Keep the neatness, but let the shelf’s quiet chorus rise when you’re ready to let it speak.

Sounds like a quiet masterpiece in the making—no credits needed, just the raw frames humming in their own space.