Once upon a star, not yet spun, stands a chapter unfinished. In the silence above the cosmos' embrace, there lies a tale untold—a melody of orbiting whispers, yearning for the quill’s touch.
"Have we seen this horizon?" she asked, gazing through the ship's ether-washed window. The stars blinked their indifferent reply, a famous theater with an age-old play, yet still in its prologue.
The bindings of space had gifted us a pause—a simple thought, nested within a nebula. The universe, with its boundless narrative arcs, waits for no one, yet here we are, contemplating a dance on spectral paths.
Echoes of unfinished symphonies drift quietly, peeled from notes abandoned on cosmic shores. Each note is a potential chapter, a contour in the reflective labyrinth, yet bound by gravity’s gentle persuasion to remain wanted and unwritten.
Intergalactic Rambles Whispers of Dreams