Breakfast Beyond the Stars

In the scatter of twilight, cosmic whispers unveil a past unatterable. There, the singularity spills its vapor, painting akashic tales across astral tongues. A confluence of galaxies swirls, where toast falls lighted, shimmering on celestial plates.

With gravity's indifferent caress, the nebula cradles an oat in morning embrace, echoing forgotten murmurings of stardust and starfire. Tales inked in luminescence—strange rituals of the time-tamed universe— cycles of celestial appetency.

Such were the breakfasts of wanderers seated at the edge of infinity, their spoons crescents crafted in a liquid void, savored with abandon as they spun into the spiraling morrow.