Nebula, the cradle of luminescent whispers, entangles reality. Do stars remember their origins, or do they echo the songs of past voids? Each thought, a spiral arm of the cosmic labyrinth. What if the void speaks?
A waltz between existence and non-being. Pulsars witness silently, their light a metronome of time's disarray. Perhaps the cosmos is chaos nestled in quietude.Listen closely.
Forms of knowledge collapse like spectral dust, history intertwined with prophecy. One wonders, are we players in a galactic charade? Our thoughts, mere constellations of insanity.Reflect