Tangles and knots, the web we weave, or perhaps it weaves itself through the fabric of cosmic uncertainty.
I asked the whispering void, "What is truth?" It replied, “Truth is the dulcet illusion one caresses in the quiet hours of introspection.”
Somewhere, a forgotten realm, where time does not tread, there lies a path left wandering by questions never asked. Echoes of Silence
A reflection upon reflections, distorted yet clarifying; a mirror's truth is, ironically, a lie. Mirrors and Their Tricks
To tread the endless thread of infinity is to embrace the uncertainty of the echoes.