In the fragmented silence, the stars cry. Confessions wrapped in cosmic echoes,
the spinning truth of an ageless sky whispered through astral hues and
choked black voids. Listen closely, for the ugliest truths hide betwixt
illuminated fragments—transient truths, brighter than the sun's hottest breath.
Ephemeral, they weave like nebula brushstrokes, dying suns craving an audience,
their neon eloquence lost on earthen observers. Juggernauts in cosmic dance,
they remain untouched, crashing into one another in a spin of unwilling poetry,
watching life form around blind orbs, the ugliest truths burned into radiant dust.
Stand witness. Watch the ghosts as they fold into a galaxy of memories,
planets entwined by shared air, sunlit confessions rippling below brimming snow,
the flightless whisper of an ungiven kiss. There is stillness, and you shall
kneel before it, humbled.