In the kitchen of the universe, where flame dances among stardust and ether, each ingredient is a fragment of forgotten worlds.
Imagine a chef, blindfolded, with hands stretched into the cosmos, crafting dishes with the faint whispers of constellations guiding their touch.
Infinity is an empty pot, simmering with potential. What do we stir within it, and why do we season thoughts with the salt of stars?
Gravity holds down the spices, while light flares play tricks upon the surface. The table is set for an unseen banquet.
Do we eat to understand the universe, or does the universe consume us in its endless appetite?
As we taste the nebula, spoonful by spoonful, taste lingers on the tongue of existence—a flavor only known to those who dare to dream the recipe.