Notes from a phantom limb:
The disconnected echo of forgotten touch.
Between the stars and the infinite stretch of silence, the coordinates whisper secrets of the burdened galaxy here.
Longitudes marked in ethereal sand, only appearing at dusk when the sky sighs deeply there.
The galaxy's longitude is a question, a cartographer's folly scribbled on an unwritten sky. Longitude of dreams, wrestling with the wide-known unknown.
When do we measure the vastness? In light-years or lifetimes? The very act distorts distant reveries into dots of permanence.
A haunting segmented dance—the forgotten limb pens down transmissions from the ether: "Longitude awakens at the stroke of cosmic silence..."
Error resonates, erasing the imaginary grid laid by the ambitious. Phantoms trace boundaries, only to find themselves unbound.
The galaxy’s hush counts revolutions in invisible winds. And through it, an echo replies with the rhythm of divergent voices echo.