Cross the galaxy's silent threshold, where sound bows meekly to silence’s grand opera. Here, within this cosmic vestibule, words wander astray, groping paths built not upon motion, but telepathic entanglements.
The stars murmur secrets, hidden beyond the shy glow of forgotten constellations. Their luminescence scripts an archive of whispers; an eternity etched in fleeting comprehension.
Perennial pauses are sonorous trees in this meadow of nebulous thoughts, branching into the realms of what might be—the kinship of celestial bodies.