In the vast desert of overthinking, where each grain is a minute lost glancing back at decisions, lies the Mirage. Is it not, dear reader, a splendid piece of irony that what seems near is merely the haunt of your lost ambitions? Let us delve into mirage theory—fearsome and intuitive, yet drenched in satire as time itself grins wickedly.
Consider its form: shifting, unclear—much like our own aspirations masked behind a veil of musty clarity. You chase what seems real, only to discover it a play of light and longing. Irony does not sleep here; it dances, a satirical waltz performed by the fearless.
Does the mirage smile back with intuition sharp as Babylonian logic? Perhaps it gazes with the satisfaction of truths unspoken, awaiting enlightenment or mere lukewarm acceptance.
Pursued by Phantoms