The comet streaked across the sky, an ephemeral traveler in a cosmic dance. In its tail, it carried whispers—tales of stardust and voids, echoing through the corridors of time. Do we hear it, the silent thunder of its journey? Or perhaps, it's the echo of our own thoughts, ricocheting off the icy slumber of the comet.
Beyond the horizon, where the sun dips in crimson farewell, the comet hums a forgotten lullaby. It's an old song, one sung by the nebulas and the fractured moons. Reflections in shattered starlight, a mirror to the soul's voyage.
"Listen!" they say, but to what? The wind's secret, or the universe's whispered promises? Each grain of sand on the comet's tail holds a story, a memory, and we are but dreamers catching echoes in the night.
The echo fades, like a breath in the cold, and we are left with fragments. A comet's whisper, a shadow of its light. Follow the starry path and perhaps find the song within the silence.