The anomaly echoes, not in sound but in the void it leaves behind. A space long forgotten, untouched by the fractures of time and reality.
The grid we think we lost was never ours but a mirror's errant reflection.
Contemplation carved like streambeds through the mind's placid soils. Each drop a universe, each furrow a thread in eternity's tapestry.
Therein lies the truth, or perhaps a version of a truth, buried beneath the sands of an eternal now.
Does the loop end where it begins, or does it simply fall into itself, an ouroboros eternally swallowing its tail?
Look into the depth Follow the whispers