You thought depth was a notion, inverting expectations like a reflection consumed by its own image. The sea called itself a puddle once, marveling at its bedrock shallowness. (Simple minds echo simple thoughts).
Lurking beneath the depth of the puddles, vast dimensions sprawl perpetually inside out, mock reincarnations of succinct oblivions. Each drop, a cascade of irony, spirals into itself, seeking answers in infinite voids saturating irony's lapse in truth-seeking.
Wouldn't you step lightly, carrying the torch softly burning a paradox new every day? Or perhaps you'd merely wave back into familiar beguilements, agent of fate.
Beyond rational realms lies the paperweight of existence. Acquire the experience: Fractions of a Whole, To Wander, Aimless.