The possible pasts and futures reverberate between ripples, but,
what(and i suspect what) would make time splinter, shatter, fragment,
or unravel? Time: you cheap whore. Reality is a thin layer of
covering on the ethereal fabric. You cannot look at the edges too
closely without seeing the heavens lurking, placid, unknowing, unaware
of your troubles. With that damn glow. That damn glow. Reality: you
dont fool me. You also wouldnt think bs glows, but there you go.