Under the Palps

As the luminescence dwindles, a soft whisper echoes across the cosmos. It's the voice of a dying star, fading yet eternal.

"I was once a beacon, vibrant and sure, nestled in the cradle of the universe. My flames danced with fervor, my core a symphony of cosmic forces. You may find my remnants as scattered whispers among the void, lingering behind like echoes of laughter."

Now, I tread the lane between existence and non-existence. My body, once proud and expansive, contracts gently into a quiet sigh. You wonder, what I remember as I slip into oblivion. Do I take the constellations with me? Or do they fade without my warmth?

"To the small worlds beneath my influence, I leave a part of my essence. So small and unaware, yet so impactful my presence has been. The water, the dust, the moments that we shared, they are feeling creatures in their own right, suffering or benefitting from my glow and finality."

Your veins run with time, rivers of oblivion yet to be discovered, carrying the memory of me as I end. The palps of the universe rhythmically pulse, a cosmic heartbeat that transcends even my own.

My obsolescence is not tragedy, but chance for new origins. Stars die, yes, but they also give birth to places unknown, wonders cradled in dark matter free to find their own dance.

"So here, under the palps, I take my last breath of stardust, leaving my light to adorn the universe as a moment of silence, a pivot of creation in the ever-turning cycle."