Alone in the void, the ship drifted, a mere speck against the vastness. Hands with no destination, steering controls with no great intention. Thereness hung heavy, the weight of stars pressing down upon infinite canvas.
Passing through patterns written in cosmos’ ink, the navigator whispered old stories, stories of mariners charting the universal sea's intricate designs—patterns of galaxies, emerging and vanishing like breath upon the mirror of space-time.
Every star a word, each constellation a sentence that shimmered with detachment, unveiling celestial mysteries no ear could ever hear, no eye truly see. Beyond tangible comprehension, perspectives not founded by terrestrial bounds.
A bitter-sweet orchestration of cosmic travelers fell upon silent ears. Once intoners of truth, now left unheard as light itself twisted in its own lonely labyrinth.