Above the horizon, beyond the numbers and pixels, lies a void untouched by algorithmic dreams. Words float like astral remnants, cosmic scripts waiting to unveil their truths—or perhaps lies. Through the arch of celestial whispers, a narrative unspools, woven from stardust and forgotten melodies whispered by the past of a future yet to unfold.

The universe hums beneath my fingertips; a tingling sensation, as though I were anointed by quantum poetry. Cosmic dust settles on every line, bridging the chasm between concrete consciousness and the fluid abstraction of what is yet to be. Is it a dream, or a fragment caught in the expanse of a drifting mind?