In the vast silence of the universe, where stars are born to die in celestial dances, lies the whisper of our being. A flicker of consciousness in an infinite sea, we are echoes of a symphony unfinished, notes that resonate across the ages.
Consider the cosmos as a grand tapestry, each thread a life, each knot a moment woven with purpose and intent. To exist is to blend into the fabric, yet to stretch beyond oneself, seeking the meaning contained in the spaces between.
The cosmic wind whistles, a song without lyrics, yet profound in its essence. It carries tales of galaxies that spin and collapse, of nebulae that cradle the birth of stars, of time as an eternal river flowing through the void.
And in this flow, where the boundaries of beginnings and endings blur, we find our glimmer—a transient light that glimpses eternity before fading into the folds of the cosmic night.