On the precipice, where shadows lengthen and whispers convene, one finds themselves tugged by the weight of paradox.
Here, the universe hums a distinct tune, woven from threads of mockery and truth.
Reflect, they say, not upon what could have been, but what amusing charade you continue to enact.
Amidst this ironic symphony, are you the puppeteer, or the bemused puppet?
Each string, a decision, a thought silently curled into itself.
And the audience? Naught but oblivion, clapping in the dark.