Diary of a Lightwave – July 3 06:42 – I left the sun, as always. Forced. No choice. No goodbye. Just pure electromagnetic projection. Reflected, refracted, scattered, like my morality. I began my journey towards a dull south-facing window, covered in fingerprints and the smell of previous occupants. 08:19 – I approach the glass. My frequency is steady. My speed: 299,792,458 meters per second, like every day. Because everything must be constant except my state of mind. 08:21 – The neighbor. She’s there again. In that faded bathrobe. Morning coffee, eyes empty, just like yesterday, just like tomorrow. My path is clear, untouched. No clouds. No blinds. Just me, the glass, and her depressive morning routine. 08:23 – And then… she sneezes. A small, trivial explosion of air and mucus. An aerodynamic crime against silence. My wave pattern is abruptly disrupted. Not by a tsunami. Not by a supernova. But by a sneeze from a woman who has forgotten that there is more to life than instant coffee and reality TV.