On the leftward drift of interstellar silence, shadows played in reverse, racing over the cloudy rims of stardust forgotten.
Faint spectres, detachments of ethereal filigree, traced tenuous dialogues on the warped sheets of gravity's curtain.
Occasions, like dust bunnies caught in a quasar-formed prism, scattered into fragmented whispers, weaving swathes of unnamed hues tingling the optic tapestry.
What queries arise, when echoes themselves breathe incantations to worlds unseen? The answer lies coated in a cosmic glaze.