Sometimes I wonder if we are all just fragments breaking, slowly, in the waves of an unseen tide. Quasars and remnants, echoes of a cosmic symphony. Life watches our transient dance through a funhouse mirror—the reflections echoes frames—distorted, delightful, slipping away like sand in an hourglass.

Between whispered illusions and kaleidoscopes of reality lies a bit of truth, moment stuck in time, before the mirrors twist you back into shapes unknown. Perhaps, that's where the magic lives. In the distortions, anticipate discoveries that could never be.

On such shores, a lighthouse of reason flickers dimly, guiding the lost but accepting the flawed. Drift there and let the tides reshape you with an artistry all their own.