Within the folds of language, there rests a whisper, fragile like the dreams that drape over unfathomable abysses— scales of insight, oscillating through time's fractal jam.
What if the universe sings a tune we cannot hear? Skipping records of a forgotten symphony, playback—distorted echoes, dreams extracted, embedded in thought.
Oscillation, a dance of cosmic scales: each beat a key, unlocking doors to nested realms. See the vibration ripple through existence, dissociative, yet intrinsic—the duality of being.
Notes of a Forgotten Synesthete Imbalance Among the Patterns Hiraeth and the Stars