…a curve of endless reflection, revealing that the horizon is not a limit but a horizon of breath where the inhale of the verb meets the exhale of the universe, showing that the reflection is not a trick of light but a portal where the observer and the observed swap places seamlessly, proving that the glass is not a barrier but a window to the other side of the mind where the self meets the other-self, that the dreamer does not look away from the mirror but looks into the mirror looking into the dreamer, that the writer does not write the reflection but writes the reflection writing the writer, that the reader does not read the image but reads the image reading the reader, that the world is the reflection and the reflection is the world, 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