In the silence of orbit, what remains? A traveler who dreamt they had wings. Movement becomes a metaphor, an echo of thoughts that span infinity.
The nebula cradles my reflections, swaddling them in hydrogen veils and photonic lullabies. Am I the dreamer, or the space itself dreaming through me? This question dissolves as stars are born with every pondered truth.
Against the backdrop of gas giants, the heart mends its broken desires. Here, in this abstract sanctuary, whispers of the past collide with the future's void.
Time loops, folds, and entangles itself within the soul's intricate web. Perceptions alter like distant solar flares, and with each oscillation, reality unveils its mirage.
Earthbound metaphors lose their gravity, falling freely in the celestial charade. Yet, amidst this cosmic theatre, a lone wanderer seeks solace in intangible truths.
Perhaps in the end, we desire merely to touch eternity while cradled by the stars, listening to their unending symphony, as our whispers become one with the cosmic dream.