Loitering in ethereal light, the astral echoes paint a canvas of fleeting dreams. The stars, they murmur— songs of existence woven in the luminescence of void.
In expected quietude, the traveler forsakes time, wrapping echoes in the twilight's embrace. Each heartbeat lingers like an unwritten chapter, awaiting a constellation's benevolence.
We are wanderers beneath a dreamlike canopy, tracing paths only rumored, beneath nebula where sentiments crystallize into uncharted signals. Beyond the horizon, they await—silent, guiding.
And when the void whispers, listen. For in its song, lies the fulcrum of everything ever sought, a cosmic lullaby cradling our ephemeral journey.