You don’t daydream; you’re not the sort. But sometimes the teacup looks like a desert or a snow drift, blinding white. Doing divination with the tea leaves, there’s a city rising up from the bottom of the cup, and there are phantoms, and thieves abseiling down the porcelain. Splash. Kerplunk. You don’t meditate either, but as you look into the darkened windows, you can almost make out darkened corners and the secrets they keep. Window after window producing the same, expected results. Until someone leaves a light on. It’s like meditating with a candle flame; concentration unbroken until it goes out. You aren’t sure whose home this is, if it is a home at all. Who lives in this apartment, or that one? The world in the teacup is none of your business. You’re the all-seeing eye, as omniscient as any other omnipotent being that may or may not be able to deny his own existence, but still less than Gulliver. You don’t have a way with the people, especially since the majority of them are not exactly inclined to believe that you exist. You are indignant. Also surprised. You don’t daydream; until you realize that you do.
/ That’s 5/5 but the other four parts of this prompt seem to have evolved into something else /