My sense of beauty was once simple, playful—

woven from the innocence of childhood.

Those early memories hide within a game of Tic-Tac-Toe,

etched in chalk, drawn in the dust,

played endlessly with friends beneath a golden sky.

Small battles, fleeting strategies—

a single victory, won with ease,

was enough to bring boundless joy,

a satisfaction pure and whole.

Back then, I did not know.

I did not see the hidden vastness—

how the dance of O, X, and empty space

could unfold into 3⁹ = 19,683 possibilities,

362,880 unique paths.

The quiet magic of mathematics,

woven into the simplest of games.

And now, as I reflect,

it whispers to me again—

an echo of Miró’s abstract beauty,

where form and meaning dissolve,

where play becomes infinity.