In the corridors of reason, where logic whispers and shadows dance,
lies the silent assumption — the null, ever vigilant, ever patient.
It yawns beneath the weight of our obsessions, measuring moments with
its unwavering gaze, charting the seamless tide between chaos and order.
Whispers of the past linger here.
What is the significance existential void
when every p-value dances on the knife edge of being?
The dreams we table, the predilections we nullify,
echo in this destined place — suspended in oblivion's embrace.
Catch the drift of wandering contemplations,
as they hover and flicker like stars on a moonless night,
within the epsilon shadows of our soul's labyrinth.
Be not afraid of the errors we make,
for each one is a universe, a possibility
left unnoticed in the vestiges of history,
documented in the hollow reports of statistical nulls.
The future is bright, illuminated softly as it drifts.