Let P(t) = [π/(t² + whims)] compute the joy in moments ephemeral.
In the popper's view, each bubble ascends, its own destiny fulfilled as it merges with the sky. The reflection is a moment, an echo in eternity.
Riddle me this: when the horizon bows to greet the sun, does the mirror of the ocean reflect the yearning of the earth?
Below a crescent moon, the waves weave secrets in forgotten tongues.
For every T(t) = [mirror(coords)] x (introspect) we find a new edge to meaning.
Reflect upon yourself, dear traveler. The popper's reflections echo in the labyrinth of thought:
As you wander these reflections, ask not where you are, but who you are becoming. The paths are mirrors, and the mirrors are paths.