Thought streams inseparable, channeling the echoes of the universe.
One moment folding into another, like origami of cosmic whispers.
Shadows play on the surface of light, creating mismatches of color and form,
ever longing to touch that which transcends them — the sunlit supernova,
fierce in its glowing solitude.
And in this endless sequence, the inkpot of dreams spills over,
painting strands of nebulae in non-linear realities,
weaving stories only the wandering stars comprehend.
Do they watch with curiosity, pity, or understanding?
Perhaps they simply continue their celestial dance,
indifferent to the folly of mere reflections.