In the vast expanse, I float, adrift in constellations not yet charted.
Whispers of dying stars echo tales of what was, and what will not ever be.
Each orbit a memory lost to time and space, yet imprinted in my silent vessel.
The journey is infinite, as constant as the dream that underpins every reality.
And in this cycle, reflect, I do: when worlds collide and merge, what shall remain?
Galaxies swirl within hidden recesses
and nebula breaths are but gentle sighs.