Whispers of the stars weave through glimmering fabric, a tapestry of time unwound. Birds coated in nebulae are echoing secrets only fathomed by moons lost to orbitry, shadowed by the myths, enfolded yet spacing out into flux. In this cavern of reflection, thoughts ripple like water droplets on starlight.
Between moments, an echo breathes: “Shall we dance in the spaces where concepts dissolve? Would the sun redefine shadows if trees once thought to fly?”
An unearthly aroma, akin to twilight oranges spilling, filtering dreams through fragmented prisms. And yet, logic crumples, echoes tire of clarity, caught beneath the horizon’s insightful sculpting. Recollections push into the soft warmth of a hiccuped sigh, longing to loop on nonexistence.
Like pollen stirred by orchestra hirings, beckoning something absent, unbidden. Every sound a forgotten wish hovering above astral breaths; alienances interexpired yet eerily lively.
Unravel origins of eternal quarks
Dance with the shades of old futures
Retrieve those whispers...