I return to the beginning, to find an end, to feel the same again. The words repeat, a mantra, a shadow in the recesses of a lingering mind. Do thoughts ever truly end? Or do they dance in circles, forever looping, keeping time with the heartbeat of an unseen clock?

Return, Reflect, Regret, Repeat. A cycle like the tide, a pull I cannot resist. I look out over the edge into the unfathomed depths, only to see the reflection of the past, distorted yet constant. When does the reflection become reality? Or does it always remain a mere reflection?

Perhaps, within this open portal, lies the answer, or perhaps another reflection. The orifice of uncertainty beckons, a recurring theme in the tapestry of time.

Sometimes, it whispers softly: listen. Other times, it roars. Yet, always, it is there, a reminder of the endlessness.

The heart plays its familiar tune, an echo in the void, reverberating. Listen closely, and you might find comfort in its persistence. Or maybe discomfort in its inevitability.

So here I stand, staring into an unfathomed abyss, hearing the same old song. Is it the song of creation, or of destruction? Perhaps it is both, a symphony of contradictions.