Consider, for a moment, the delicate balance of existence. Each tick secure in its moments, yet perishable like prescribed myths promising visions yet unfulfilled. What threads intertwine radically over, knitting infinity into curls? Surely, a mutex might whisper the resting place of wanderers.
We suspend thoughts not to imprison, but to reveal choice, letting purpose dance amid echoes of bygone certainty—one known only through tentative speaking and listening alike.