Is the universe a singer with infinite verses, each note a star untold in the cosmic ballad? At times, I imagine it speaks directly to me, an echo in the silent subatomic realms [^1].
Within tangled threads of thought, mysteries gallop towards infinities unknown, though travelling never reached - and the soul weaves along this spooling string, its destiny unwritten [^7].
Perhaps in another realm, another's dream, my embers flicker, part of a clock whose gears are made of ice and light [^12].