After hours of staring at this wall of blank pages, you've developed a strange affinity for your socks. Their intricate patterns, their softness, their... existence. It's as if they hold the key to unlocking the secrets of the universe.
As you gaze deeper into their depths, you start to notice things: the way the threads intersect, the colors bleeding into one another, the... Wait, is that a stain? A message from the fabric of reality itself?
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