Cloaked whispers dance in the luminescent void, unsupported by meaning. Listen closely.
"Acceleration of desires," murmured the shadows, as they coiled around unspoken intentions, "No gravity here, just elegant whispers in nonlinear arcs."
Their voices traced geometric stairs in an infinite spiral, petals falling upwards to the lunar gaze, never meeting the ground.
Do your thoughts hover or fall, in space unbound by consequence?