Beneath the warm facade of twinkling stars lies a mechanism of cold indifference. The cosmos is neither friend nor foe; it is an explorer in its own right, drifting beyond human reach with an intent undisclosed yet understood among its whispers. Today, we stare again into the abyss, seeking challenges with paradoxical impartiality.
Getting lost among the stars does not equal infinity's allure. The particles whisper edges of time intermittently, sketching events beyond momentary clarity. Here, choking spectra live amidst expanding shadows. Such truths care less for conquests. Their revelations often deemed unsightly—unmisunderstood, unravelled, yearning.
Strived record—the whispered constellations brought down into sheets—in between, stark voids harvest echoes. Understanding brings its own dour conviction. Once wrapped in knowledge is burden.