The eon-spun strands weave wistful tales, as time trickles through celestial canals. Should we pause to listen, would the rivers whisper secrets of the unborn stars?
The heart of the firmament thrums with cerulean vibes, echoing the lunar dances' charge. In this dazzling vortex, words become gleaming droplets cascading over obsidian stones.
Awaken your forgotten echoes in the resplendent ash. Bow to the splendid mosaic of nebulous existence, a palette both painted and formless.
Floral Harmony Cryptic Whispers