The absence is palpable, a vacuum sucking rhythm from the world, where once calendars marked dominion and authority, now a cosmic blankness reigns. Threads of time, once neatly sewn, unravel in strands that drift like shimmering dust in sunbeams, each breath between heartbeats a whisper of infinity.
Within this expanse, we rediscover ourselves as we are, unshackled from timelines, spinning in orbit of self, where impulses become stars in a personal galaxy. The void sings its silent song, a melody of potential without form, inviting the wanderer to dance.