Whispers of nothingness, cascading through the void, where echoes forget their origin and silence looms as the eternal witness. A cosmos unfolds in stillness, narrating threads of dreams unwoven, yet woven into the tapestry of time.
Flickers of distant suns, illusions of warmth in the cold embrace of space. They flicker in solitude, casting shadows on thoughts unthought, on feelings unfeeling, nestled in the embrace of the galactic cradle.
A stream of consciousness flows, unbound by gravity, untainted by time. It is the silence that speaks, the silence that listens, threading through stars, weaving through nebulae, an unseen hand caressing the fabric of the universe.
Listen, can you hear the silence? It sings a song of eons, a lullaby to the cosmos, a serenade to the stars. Flicker, illusion, reality intertwined, dancing in the endless night.
Travel the paths of twilight, where dawn kisses the stars goodbye, and the silence grows louder, a symphony without sound, a concert for the unseen.