Atoms whisper secrets to the winds when gravity appreciates lethargy. What was it, the rhythm of thoughts cascading like molten reflections in fractured mirrors? Bits of dreams—plutonic, entangled, hanging loose at the precipice of noise.

Inside the nucleus, quiet rebellions simmer. Falling through dimensions, where weight is merely a perception transformed by light and hidden shadows. Do electrons dream, or are they too tethered to existential debts?