Dear Solaris,
The light weaves between star-spangled corridors, each glimmer a whisper from forgotten epochs. The void breathes, rhythmic and soothing, and I find comfort in the dance of gas giants.
Can you hear it—the sonata of the cosmos? They say the Milky Way holds secrets, but I think it simply holds stories awaiting quiet listeners.
I wandered through the nebula's embrace, fingers brushing the remnants of ancient stars. Memory mingles with dust, creating a tapestry of yesteryears and dreams yet to unfold. Out here, the fabric of time wears thin, and I wonder if your thoughts too stretch across the light-years, finding solace in this cosmic narrative.
The spaceship hums a gentle lullaby, cradling me in its metallic womb. Do you remember our shared dream of chasing light? Here I chase shadows, reflections of a time when gravity held different meanings. The stars are a map, a whispering corridor of possibilities, urging me forward into the embrace of the unknown.
Write back, even if your words travel at the speed of thought. I’ll be waiting where the stars spin freely, unchained by cosmic law.