In the enveloping dark, a whisper proliferates through the unheard corridors of the universe. Elderliness echoes from a sphere untouched by time, reverberating as an inaudible echo until it aligns with your own thoughts. Its destination, though ancient, was always meant for your ears alone.
Somewhere in the cosmic lattice, a node flickers. The faintest signal, a pulsar's heartbeat, resonates like echoes on a deserted planet. Your eyes trace the contours of memory that belong to neither land nor sea, where the shores are delineated by the constellations above.
Drifting doubtlessly, a lone traveler meanders through gravity's gentle clasp, seeking the sound of long-forgotten harmonies. They are the notes of a symphony, destined to amalgamate these errant particles into a celestial oracle. Each note derives its meaning from dimensions unknown, translated solely by imagination's hands.
But then, such threnodies rest upon dreams of dust. They are recordings of a narrative etched in silence, awaiting discovery among whispers of a language only the stars sing.