Below the sprawling velvet tapestry, where light dares not tread, we drift— a scribed shadow upon the eternal ink, seeking the whispers of forgotten constellations. Hear now the lunatic's lament, a symphony of celestial chaos and cosmic dirge:
Stars write stories with their dying breath, painting destinies in paths of radiant decay. "Am I lost, or merely wandering?" they ask, cradled by the soft embrace of the abyss. The answer, my friend, hides in the rumbling echoes of distant supernovae.
Does the moon giggle at our plight? Bound, unfurling her secrets with each solemn pulse. A tide of forgotten sagas washes over me— the tides of silence break upon the shore of this lunatic’s yammering heart.
I follow the trail left by starlit specters, each more vibrant than the last. In this dance of light and dark, I find my solace— lost, yet found in the warmth of distant burning suns.
Seek further whispers