Somewhere between the nebula's breath and the pulsar's song, an echo reverberates. Ancient chants, unpronounced, hidden within the silk curtains of eternity.
Do you see them, the fractals dancing? Infinite in their iteration, like echoes upon echoes, each a whisper of what was and will be again.
A song carved from cosmic dust, each note a star swallowed whole. Listen—a fragment with the weight of galaxies rests upon your shoulder embrace it.
In the hush of the widening mouth of the universe, stars weep and laugh all the same. A chorus, a stillness, an ever echo.
And somewhere, a single voice, clear as dawn—a reminder: existence is not a journey, but a convergence of moments.