Barefoot on the cold surface of an uncharted moon, I hear the whispers of ancient saturnine winds. They curl through the night and bring tales of sapphire orbs spiraling around their fiery sun, tales of time forgotten in the layers of cosmic dust. Whispers that tether thoughts to distant galaxies, to nameless stars that blink in rhythm.
Interstellar pathways weave through the fabric of void, where light folds and bends, tracing the stories of wanderers like etchings in a forgotten tome. Embers that burn out again, leaving remnants of glow, echoing in the silence.
And in this serene audacity, a heartbeat, or is it many heartbeats, astral echoes of a forgotten past, pulsing in the deep quiet. Memory traces the orbit of dreams, reshaping the night with whispers of worlds never seen, yet unforgettably felt.
The sky stretches infinite, a canvas unclaimed, unwritten, yet filled with the symphony of swirling thoughts — echoes, endless echoes dancing in the stellar winds.