We are a network of neurons creating narratives, a biological organism interpreting electrical signals as “reality.” But even in that apparent coldness, there’s something strange: the fact that we care, that pain hurts and beauty shakes us, even though we know it’s all, ultimately, a theater of the mind. Nothing we see, feel, or think is more than that: signals. And yet, here we are, feeling. Living.

That’s what doesn’t make sense. That even knowing it’s all a brain-made construct, it still hurts. It still moves us. It still breaks us.