Under the celestial cupola, where horizons spiral inward, the clarity of dusk lays bare the reflection of forgotten echoes. The dome, a sentinel to our fleeting visions, captures the murmurs of eternity, resting heavily on the edge of all that can no longer be seen.
Each step forward is a rustle among the curtains of fate, each whisper a slide into oblivion’s embrace. Here, where the world flattens against its own curvature, we stand, caught in the paradox of both seeking and surrendering.
Silence stretches its arms wide, welcoming with a solemn nod as we gaze into the immensity of self, reflected in the remnants of starlight. Our journey—an endless spiral, echoes in the vast tomb of what once was and what is yet to come.
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