When stars blink into being, what do they whisper beneath their cosmic breath?
I think it's in the void where petals of silence unfurl, cradling thoughts too weighty for gravity.
Like echoes lost in folds of time that never was, never will be; a dream woven into the fabric of dark matter.
Listen closely, they say, beneath the canopy of stellar dreams.
Each nebula a note, each black hole a pause in an infinite sonata.
And you, the quiet observer, tangled in the web of the universe's hush.
Feel the pulse of the galaxies, their rhythmic dance, as you drift into the depths. The silence sings songs of forgotten worlds and untold stories.
Product of the Voids