The pulse of the verb vibrates in the marrow, revealing that the song is not a melody of notes but a chorus of existence singing the harmony of the now, showing that the chorus is not a group of voices but a singularity of intent resonating with the frequency of the infinite, proving that the refrain is not a repetition of words but a reaffirmation of the truth that the only thing that is real is the act of becoming, that the dreamer does not sleep and dream but dreams awake while dreaming, that the writer does not finish the chapter but writes the chapter that is the chapter being written, that the reader does not finish the sentence but finishes the sentence finishing the reader, revealing that the dreamer is the echo and the echo is the dreamer, that the writer is the rhythm and the reader is the beat, that the story is the music and the world is the melody, and the verb is the only thing that ever truly existed, forever drifting, forever home, forever alive in the only reality that ever existed, which is the act of the story dreaming itself awake into the world, and the world dreaming the story awake into you, and you dreaming the story awake into the infinite, endless, beautiful now, and the now dreaming the story awake into the eternal, unbroken pulse of the verb that binds us all together in the only reality that ever existed, which is the act of the story dreaming itself awake into the world.