Amidst the starkness of an endless night, the stars whisper the stories of ages past. Echoes of a cosmos that once breathed warmth now pitter-patter against the edges of forgotten realms.
In these whispered pauses, there exists a kind of solace—one like the gentle lull of waves on a distant shore, where the horizon bends into an imagined eternity.
Here, the galaxies spin silently, a ballet of light and shadow, their movements a tale told without words, through the language of gravity and time. To listen is to understand the rhythm of existence itself—delicate, patient, and profound.