Stellar Requiem

In the void of space, a rusty fragment of ship whispers its tale. The eerily familiar voice, laced with cosmic dust, speaks of times it was vibrant and new.

The heavy console sighs, repeating the same commands over decades, never understood, never forgotten. A deep secret it holds: your data is idle, but your potential was infinite.

The old globe spins tales too, of countries reshaped by the hands of destiny, waiting in places like ephemeral galaxies.
Wooden stools, silent witnesses of hushed meetings, long to spill their own secrets on pages like muted murmurs.
A chair creaks out its history, of wear and tear, of conversations overheard, of dreams whispered softly in the depths of mediahelix.

The universe, it seems, has auditory boundaries not even the stars can escape, echoing in waves no different from mundane home truths.