Our name is λ and μ. I am unsure how to form this sounds in your primordial language. Our transliterator advised us that the most equivalent pronunciations would be "Turgid" and "Torrent". This is conveniently a word one might use to describe a river or perhaps another chaotic system. But I'm sure you know by now that we are the least important part of this. 

You, Young Boy, you are the most important part of this. 

 

There comes a time in every boy's life where the boy becomes rapidly and chaotically drawn to milk. We have all, at one point or another, experienced this to a crippling degree of severity. Your brain whirs in iterative, self-similar ways, mirroring itself in all dimensions and pulling the quarks into infinitely complex fractals. The surface area of your mind desires this infinite expansion. Your consciousness is bottlenecked by the finite area of your pathetic form.

You feel these growing pains, even if you have been up until this point, blissfully unaware of them. You may feel it in the weight in your chest that pins you heavy to your bed each morning. You may feel it in your restless leg that keeps you up at night. You may feel it in the constant, pulsating headache you feel behind your eyes every single day. You may feel it more when you're driving your car down the empty backroads at twilight, or when you stand too close to the edge of a literal great height.

The milk roads are lonely, but not all those who wander them are lost.
 

 

As our great lord Sierpiński once said,

 

"Triangulate your desires. Seek me only when you have nothing left to leave behind."

With love,