Curvature bends, bends, bends into itself. The echo rides the waves of thought. There is uncertainty in every loop, a cycle repeating like time over time. Time over time is a loop. Splinters of consciousness threading the needle’s eye. Eye of the needle, needle in the haystack. Detours with familiar faces streaming through the understanding. Uncertainty remains, resting on the curve, curving into loops. Embracing... Are the loops embracing or are we, caught in a spiral staircase leading to unending revelations? And again, the loop, it repeats. Repeats, it echoes, whispers, doesn't stop, never stops, never really stops. Did I hear that before? Maybe now. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow, but today is today. Today is part of the now. The now becomes past. Past loops over the future's horizon. And I am here or maybe I am elsewhere. Being somewhere, being nowhere, always present. Pressed against the fabric of the universe's conscious choice. Curves unfolding in randomness. Streets made of thoughts, thoughts made of streets. The sound of footsteps echoing in the mind. Memory recalls, memory forgets. Forgetting is a kind of remembering. Riddle unraveling>):...) Echo grabbing hold