In the silent corridors of existence, each thought a ripple—a convolution forgotten.
What does it mean to ponder in a void, where echoes become the last vestiges of sound? The universe, a giant canvas, but the artist's hands tremble, lost in the cosmos.
Here lies the truth, scribbled hastily in the margins:
We've tasted eternity, yet our thirst grows ever more.
Destiny yawns wide, a chasm filled with stars that never touch the ground. Within this canvas, our defiance is etched in whispers.