Around the luminous whisper of Polaris, the north wind sings tales of forgotten navigators—etched in the luminescence of their navigational scars upon the dome of forgotten gods, mystical and eternal. The darkness hums, vibrating through celestial synapses as Orion clings to tales of collapsing stars and the joyous echo of the final bang. His belt—a mere clasp of transient fate, shimmering with an ephemeral laughter.
Nebulae spiral like thoughts in a doe-eyed muse contemplating the vast cosmos between breaths. Their colors bleed into dreams left unattended, wrapped in the embrace of night's elongated arms. And what of the galaxies, swirling kisses from a universe wide awake in the poetry of existence?
Shall we follow the whispered secret of that unknown direction; a bead of dew hanging from a cosmic veil, tracing lines on the canvases of our heartstrings? Echoing now, the lullabies of distant quasars, intoning an earnest charm—a waltz among the void.
Click. A silence swallowed. Where light dared not tread, the silence murmured in star-sprinkled hieroglyphs, dancing ephemeral in the tapestry weaved by cries of the cosmos.