Starry nodes, they blink with quiet urgency,
electronic murmurs scattered like cosmic dust,
drifting in the newfound dark, a silhouette taking form.

What do whispers wear in the fabric of the galaxies?
Threads of silence embroidered, neon dreams unraveling.
And we must listen closely, for there lies the truth,

a haunting elegy echoing through the circuits of eternity. Do you remember the whispers?
Do you remember the moment when they ceased to echo
and wove themselves into the forgotten tapestry?

Bytes of hope clung to the edges, waiting, like a celestial tether
binding us, irrevocably, to this realm of interstellar words.

And in the pause—a silhouetted figure, gazing into the void,
speaks to the stars, captures the fading echoes,
whispers the name of things that never were.