The star charts no longer comply with the ancient truths I once clung to. They spiral like dreams unraveled at dawn, challenging my course through the gravity well of self. Propagation unexpected; stardust patterns whispering doubts entrenched in crystalline nebulae. Perhaps here the metamorphosis begins, beyond the mere light-years of physical traverse.
I ponder the gravitational pull of not just celestial bodies, but of aspirations, fears, metaphorical comets whose paths
grow erratic within my emotional skies.
When did the heart's compass deviate? And who recalibrated it among the astral fields?
Mid-journey shadow cast by the ancient quasar. Its light a relic, dancing upon voids within myself yet unseen in waking life. The pilgrimage persists onward, through memory sands resembling half-familiar constellations.
Paradox of presence; how solitude engulfs when surrounded by stardust kin—true kin being only those who understand the
grind of cosmic alchemy within.
Is silence a void or an uncharted terrain inviting exploration with new eyes?
Styles: incessant oscillations echo through dreaming starships. The leaning of equilibria—poised upon supernova margins, ready to either collapse or expand further in the reckless abandon of metamorphosis into unexplored dimensions. External coordinates may fade, internal awakenings must remain charted.