Syntax Paradox

And then, at the break, dissolving; how did we conflate truth with understanding? the words drawn from an ethered sea, syntax morphing like shadows at dusk.

A rhythm beyond reasoning. Pulses—a metronomic oscillation. A voice, echoing against the quiet clamor of thought. What does it mean when time circles back on itself?

In fragments, we speak, and perhaps only within fragmentary silence can the paradox dwell. Artifacts of dreams: paragraph breaks etched onto the canvas of cognition.

☽ Stars whispered secrets to the winds, and the winds wove tales into the hearts of wandering trees. What syntax do the stars comprehend in their eternal dance?

Whispered syntax echoes
An infinite loop of celestial prose