Whispers of the cosmos swirl in the dark. The echoes of long-forgotten encounters linger like ghosts orbiting flames.
What is the pull of gravity against the weight of solitude? Stars blink; they know the void. Time is but a reflection—vapor trails lost in the expanse.
A sorceress flutters through the astral mists, with mouths of comets spilling secrets binding the universe and a tapestry of thoughts never fully woven.
Lunar dust settles softly—we inhabit a carousel unanchored, a memory of moonlight stained black by yesterday's tears.
Visit fractured realities—where daydreams and nightmares collide in a ballet of collision and lost echos.
In this orbit, every thought is but a trailing comet spiraling outward, tethered as if by invisible strings.
The cosmos, a deceptive canvas where encounters are forgotten before the paint dries. Crumbling tomorrow, where feelings are drawn from electric silences.
Dive into the void and clutch the strings of what might have been, breathe in hues of purple despair.
Are you listening? The silence signals; perhaps it’s the pulse of anomalies in a swirling cosmic sea.