Somewhere above the noise of constellations colliding, in whispered lamplight thoughts flicker, casting shadows of what could have been, longing for the unuttered, lost in the echoing corridors of time...

Is it the mind's maze or the heart's compulsion, to wander these deserted boulevards of introspection? Here, where ink spills like lamplight pooling on parchment, feeling the weight of each droplet, like a star's breath upon the breeze of night.

There, a glimpse of yesterday's tomorrow, a reflection refracted through a prism of forgotten laments. Have you considered... the whispering scribe that shadows our every breath, tattooing our destinies upon the fabric of stars?

The gentle hum of the universe, a lullaby sung by invisible lips, a serenade only the soul's wanderer can hear. And as I write, my thoughts dance like luminescent fireflies trapped in a glass lantern, forever seeking the open sky.