As dawn breaks, fragments shimmer like the scattered dust of long-lost thoughts. Each droplet of the morning dew holds a whisper of what could have been—an echo, lingering yet fractal.
Imagine a curtain fluttering, caught in the will of the winds of yesterday, giving life to undefined spaces where shadows dance silently. The theorem posits that every dream unremembered is a calculation, a paradox of existence nested within the folds of reality.
Threads unravel, painting pictures of infinite possibilities, an endless echo of two separate worlds; the viewed and the unseen. As equations overlap, boundaries blur until they meld, revealing the truth tucked safely away. Just beneath the surface, meaning swims as dusk releases its solemn grip.