Once upon a time in a reality not too different from your own,
the sky was an orange hue,
and dinosaurs ordered takeout from the 42nd dimension.
Peel back the layers, they whispered,
but no one knew whether to listen to the wind or the crystalline salsa.
The bones told stories in a tongue of rust and myth.
“Explore the unexplored!” they exclaimed,
while lurking under the sand dune of history's footnote.
Ever benevolent, the universe allows us to make ironic choices.
And so, we wander—fossilized and indifferent,
tracing the veins of ancient sarcasm.
The footprints imitate the ones left by our ancestors,
who wore confusion like a badge but never actually found the exit.