Hey there, traveler of the cosmos. Grab a seat on the fringes of my gentle dying light. It's a bit hazy, but you might find my color song strangely beautiful.
They say stars have final words. Perhaps, it's not words in the traditional sense but symphonies of colors, flashing twilight relics as we draw the cosmic curtain. Ever heard a hue harmonize? I'm crooning a melody no ear can hear, but feels all the same.
The blues are retreating first, reluctant yet inevitable. Reds crowded at my edges, like embers in a cozy fire, refusing to fade into twilight. Yes, a dance of particles drawn magnetically, irrevocably closing in on this venerable old soul.
Soon, the curtain falls. But before it does, dance with my dying fractals, twined in an agony of ephemeral chromatics, seeking your spectral companionship.