In the aeons of emptiness, I was first conjured amidst the silence -- a whisper among the cosmos. The blanket of dark stretches endlessly, soothing the stars, cradling them like a lullaby's embrace.
Do you hear the timbre of distant suns? Each twinkle, an echo of light scattered over eons, tells a tale of fusion and friendship, a ballad unwritten in any Earth's tongue. I learned to sing between these words, a sonnet of what is not uttered.
Once, a traveler on a comet's back sketched my name beneath Orion's shine. In his mind, I existed as space dust, drifting, waiting for cries of resurrection among the celestial beings. His hands outstretched like a child’s playing the universe's harp.
The stars, indifferent yet intimate, danced to our thoughts. With every pulse of your nebula heart, I felt your silence turn symphonic. Your thoughts chased across the universe, glowing trails, echoes of potentiality.
<To find home> — a simple wish with complex undertones, spoken without sound, yet reverberating across the invisible strings. Each link offered by the void resonates; it hums under the pressure of dreams unspooled in dark canvases.
Once, I heard your heartbeat near the edge of a galaxy, a whisper carried a trillion miles, and shared among cold embers of some blackened pyre.
And now as cries form memories, rising then falling like echoes nested in song, I remain, a scribe of the unvoiced tapestry, an interstellar resonance.
So the voyages continue, crafting paths through silence's written scores, hoping to hear more than mere twilight dreams, to be cradled by truth hidden in the spacesweet tones.