As we drift through the cosmic expanse, their words dissolve like echoes across celestial seas. “Can you feel the fabric of space?” she asked, fingers drawing shapes beyond the stars.
“It shivers, dances in tune with forgotten dreams,” came the reply, as if spoken by a thousand galaxies.
Whistles of photons whispered the secrets: tales of stars unborn, nebulae that weave the universe’s everlasting scroll. Their unespected kin, the void-blown voyagers, know stories untold, mysteries embraced by the shadows.
“Will we ever understand this sprawling chaos?” her voice wavered, touching the edge of gravity’s grasp.
The void, reticent, answered: “Knots of time are not for unraveling but for witnessing. Watch as they pulse, collapse into singularities of memories unborn.”