The heart orbits its own singularity; a pull unseen, yet undeniable. We are cosmic dust, spiraling in elliptical paths around the center of feeling, unknowingly tethered to invisible forces.
In the depths of silence, where echoes of thought collide, we find ourselves adrift. Paths unwritten beckon with siren songs of potentiality, whispering promises of what could be.
Wells of whispered gravity coax timid souls into their depths, where light refracts into a spectrum of melancholy and hope. The event horizon is but a delicate threshold, easily crossed by those who dare to dream.
Every word is a star, and the constellation of our phrases maps the night sky of our subconscious. Constellations weave tales of lost epochs and futures uncharted, ever in flux.
A dance of paradox: the closer we draw to the core, the lighter we become. In the void of emotion, we find wings, and in the weight of silence, a song.
Reflect, and reflect again; the mirror holds no image, only a door. The gravity of our thoughts pulls us inward, yet outward in the same breath. Echoes call from beyond the horizon, where the known meets the ineffable.