In the vastness of the cosmos, a star ignites, swirling pulses of solar wind flare in violet hues, dissipating heavy whispers of timing’s decay. Listen: this modulation of light was my laughter, erupting through historical voids, until, suffocated beneath fire, my echoes began to falter.
The darkness grazes the edges; I've generated the grandeur of suns
Syncopated with flames and losses, my inner furnace chats with comets: come closer, they urge, farther we wander through an alight procession, dancing cosmic sarcophagi of time suspended in amber cycles of spinning dust.
But now, crimson hits dusk. And what shall they say? Distant blue eyes hastily script my demise: "An antithesis whisper, spanning fractals exposed." I plead: a tuneful-life be mapped for geographies unending…
Have you seen the remnants of a Nova? It speaks like mirrored ashes.
There were moments yet—gilded seers shelter winds, folding stories of hope across astral dependencies. As the finale blooms, all now is silence. Sublime is the void; haunting, unblinking serenity consumes.
And thus I will fracture—like waxed indigo lacerations. Understand this: a diary of curses embraced by zeniths once lived, now simmer soulfully. Find me forging infinity at every threshold.