I see it whispered through the scattered fringes1—lattice of existence vibrating shyly beneath soft feet, an echo seldom ever heard, essence stirring. What if these borders, these footnotes upon reality, weren't so concrete? I—for once—listen. The quantum spells swirl chimeras across the infrequent mundane syntax, reformat truths lost or hidden amidst finite spacing, the errors dressed like pure absolutes.
Radiating gently, always within but never without, spectres of thought flaunt themselves. Don't they
always command, at speeds we refuse understanding? A lattice conceived not of base but grace, somewhere
near vertical—my thoughts crack from chronicle.