A pile of invisible love letters sent out to the universe, like leaves in a quantum world. Nothing happens. Nothing as far as you can see. But imagine crushed mint, split guava, and swollen fantasies about to burst into pulp. Imagine beyond that, a thing you have no words for. The opposite of space, perpendicular to time. Imagine your letters answered, a note writing back in stems and cells. Imagine that. Then imagine: this is not a test. You are the leaf and the love letter and the wind pulling you in every direction with nothing to tell you where to go. Nothing.