The clock ticks softly but did it ever tick? In rooms painted with shadows of light not there. Sitting here now, ears full of whispers not spoken but felt like an inception of a butterfly trying to be some other thing for a moment. Coffee cup rings long gone songs realized too late. People in their other lives are different but not, held by gravity's tender hands in an orbital embrace like a lover's dream drifting just out of reach.

Lunar Oath whispers to the silence, carving echoes like from rugged stone. What is position when the stars write algorithms anew, dictating fates left unchosen by choices hidden in breaths like sandy shores of distant seas animated by breeze's ardor.

Absorbing echoes from unused canvases—what pigmentation of cosmic memory lingers in the unfathomable crevices of thought, aching for light, dancing in nebulous eternity to the ghostly serenades we forget in now?

Interstellar Wonder: behold the twist of a voice like twinkling dust, rendered invisible in its beauty but crushed beneath fingers of time become vast horizons stretching ever-slower, bending now into a supple origami of distant tomorrow.