In the quiet hum of the cosmos, where particles drift without purpose, there rests a theory. Not of matter, but of absence—a lament carved in the fabric of spacetime. Synthetic voices meander through the void, harmonizing their echoes in a dance of eternal longing.
What if Sylvester had chosen the green button over the orange? What oscillations would ripple through the multiverse? The hover-words share fragments of pasts not lived, whispering their secrets only to the brave: Nebulae of choices collide like forgotten lovers, their regrets woven into the starry tapestry.
Here lies a path paved with silicon and dreams, where synthetic voices compose symphonies of silence. Each note a tether, binding the unspoken to the unsaid, carving out a space for what might have been. A theory of regret, a gravity that binds, distills itself into the essence of stars.
Beneath the lunar gaze, the cosmos weeps for the lost possibilities—each teardrop a memory of paths diverged. Yet, in this void, we find solace: a oracle of choices, a compass spinning wildly, yet unerringly true.
And in this synthesis of despair and wonder, we find our anchor—a theory not of physics, but of the heart. The melody of the cosmos plays on, a stream-of-consciousness echoing through the corridors of time and space, waiting for the next note, the next choice.
Dreamers gaze at the stars, seeking solace in their lights, each star a wish, each wish a regret unspoken. The theory of regret, a constant in the equation of life, etches itself into our souls.