In the quiet murmur of an astral hush, flickers an uncharted realm where the breath of a thousand stars whispers secrets of time's weave. The light sheds shadows, casting elongated dreams across nothingness. Thoughts drift like silver clouds, pilfering the quietude from fireflies born of cosmic charts.
Brass trumpets serenade memories of lightyears unwritten, while quasar musicians strum strings woven from the fabric of dark matter. Echoes dance chaotically—an ethereal cacophony that encapsulates the ambiguity of existence in a slumbering cosmos.
Yet, amidst the billowing stardust, a question lingers: where do dreams dissolve? Do they echo in the chasms of nebulas or do they spiral indefinitely between thoughts etched into the tapestry of the universe?