The earth spins, oblivious to the singular orbit of my own heart. Its grand narratives unfold, stories whispered on winds that do not solely carry my name. I am a universe contained, galaxies swirling within skin and bone. My sun rises and sets according to an internal clock, a rhythm felt only by me. The world exists, a stage vast and varied, but my performance is for an audience of one. My applause, my tears, my understanding β these echo within the chambers of my own soul.