Enduring

Invisible: a body, the sun.
Are you coming to me? “Gray” approaches.
It anchors, then rises in uneven steps.

The whole escapes. Everything changes with a sigh.
One glance, and I lose myself in your universe.
You will know why.

It returns and strikes, promiscuous under the sun. At night, the same.
It rains, and that place we seek no longer makes sense.
Violet sun, azure in your soul.
The pit slumbers; the roar of your skin…

Undefined fractals surround us.
It is a deception; it draws near again. (Do you understand me? That is the signal.)
Then the world, eNdUrInG… the linearity that does not exist, in vain.

Footnote (2026):

I wrote this text when I was twenty. Reading it again today, with the perspective provided by time and systems thinking, I see that the chaos I described is still there—but my relationship with it has changed radically.

At twenty, the absence of linearity felt like a runtime error: a critical bug that produced a profound sense of dissociation. It was as though my user interface had fallen out of sync with reality’s backend.

Today I understand that noise through the concept of entropy. Back then, disorder seemed to threaten dissolution. I now accept that chaos is not the absence of rules, but the presence of complex rules we have not yet learned to understand.

At that stage of life, the glitch feels persistent, like a structural failure with no solution. As we grow, however, we realize that the system was not necessarily broken; we simply did not have all the inputs. It resembles an AI hallucination: when a model lacks information or context, it fills the gaps with invented distortions. My youthful anguish was not an error in the world, but a hallucination produced by missing data.

I no longer feel that I am merely eNdUrInG a broken system. I now understand that if we can extrapolate the points we cannot yet see, the network may eventually make sense.

The system is the same; I have simply learned to read the logs more carefully and expand my context window.