In the cosmic expanse, a garden grows not of soil, nor of light, but of absence itself. The seeds planted in silence sprout into wonders unseen, whispering truths of existence, and non-existence alike.
The void is a canvas,
it said. From it, all colors bleed their essence,
bound by the gravity of perception.
The alien figure, draped in shadows,
touched the empty air, conjuring forms that danced in the ephemeral light.
Perhaps, the garden was not a place, but a state of being, where thoughts rooted and blossomed into stars. Past and future intertwining, as the tendrils of time weaved their narrative.
As you wander this garden, do you plant your own thoughts, or do they plant you?
Explore further into the cosmic silence