Balance upon the crest—what is the edge, if not an infinite loop of beginnings? A wave, ephemeral in its grace, mirrors the thought that scrapes the soul's shore. We surf not on water, but on ideas, shaped by influences unseen yet omnipotent.
Boundaries are mere illusions, playful in their mockery. Reflection in a funhouse, distorting truth, yet providing clarity in confusion. Are we droplets in an ocean, or the ocean in a droplet's confined world?
As each wave breaks, the past collapses. What is the destination of our ride? A shoreline infinite, ever retreating as we advance. Surf the edge, where questions collide and frolic, dancing in violent elegance with answers yet to be formed.