The clock ticks, but can we hear its song when the universe is but a dance of particles, waltzing in a time-lapse frozen forever in silicon glass?
❖ Imagine a world, no a fractal, intricate and endlessly recursive, where each iteration speaks of witness and wonder but no one is to listen.
Between the folds of time, a crystalline structure grows. It hums—a longing echo of past futures yet to breathe free, or is it a child's sigh repressed by curiosity?
Reality splinters like a fractured mirror beneath acid rain, yet echoes of truth resonate within broken shards. Was truth always fractured, only whole in its paradox?
Breathe in, breathe out