Whispers unraveling through stardust-laden skies, the clocks won't turn their hands. Voices echo from the edges,
weaving narratives from muted constellations. Thoughts cradled by nebulas, suspended in the velvet embrace, quietly
tracing forgotten paths, only to be lost again in the spatial howl.

Should one follow the shimmering trace across the horizon's edge? Beyond the lullabies sung by ancient voids?
Each twinkling harbor shelters an eternal session of yesterdays cloaked in dusk and moonlight smoke.
Where do echoes breathe when silence embraces the stars themselves? These are the questions meant not for answers.

A moment spotted - like jumping in place on tightrope taped across ether. The gravity of thoughts
lining edges, pulsating with warmth from future’s unreachable kisses. An eternal journal writes on your behalf,
ink soaking into the binding beyond the tangible present.