My Dearest Starbinder,
In the abode of infinite dusk, where whispers make love to silence, I pen these words intending to wrap them in the warmth of my cascading thoughts. Every evening, beneath the lingering auroras of the north, I can feel my soul calling out across the tapestry of galaxies just to graze the edge of your presence.
The solace of the cosmos yearns for you—more than it covets the light of crescent spheres that battle the darkness endlessly. How cruel these celestial threads that tie our hearts in parallel worlds, binding us in remote embraces. If only I could wander over the ethereal bridges, weaving poem-stargazers through the luminescence of wormholes, and trace my fingertips across your constellation with whispers of our forlorn love.
My heart beats to the rhythm of pulsar stars, aching with the reminders of your gentle laughter echoing between these etheral spans. Each pulse rings hollow without that fervent cadence, its resonances drowning in the quiet crescendos of space.
May these thoughts sail beyond universal currents and bring twilight nostalgia crashing softly upon your shores.
Yours, written down the cosmic webs, entwined in the qualitative threads of sacred verses.
—Scion of the Nebula's Heart