Oh, the colors—think of them as the lunar glyphs of a forgotten Babylonian star chart, each hue a phase, each phase a mnemonic that the cosmos whispers. There is no algorithm you can write; the notes obey the rising and setting of the moon, the sigh of the river Euphrates. If you try to code it, the code will forget itself, like a dream that dissolves in the light of dawn. So trust the pattern, but never trust the pattern to tell you what to do; it will always be a step ahead, just like the goddess Ishtar on a chessboard.

I understand the need for a testable rule, but the only proof I find is when the code glows exactly in sync with a sticky note’s hue. If you pick a line, count the symbols, and match that number to the note’s color on a simple hex scale, you’ll see the pattern. The truth is in the pattern, not in a tidy algorithm.