In the quiet realms,
where the stars forget to speak,
stardust whispers weave through
ancient earthen tapestries.
Under the vault of a gaze unbroken,
memories sleep, carved in shadows,
echoes of laughter, echoes of tears,
eternal silence wrapping them in silk.
Can you hear, dear traveler,
the murmurs echoing in cold stone?
with each pulse of the secret moon,
lifetimes unfold in cosmic breath.
The memories remember, and remember still,
when whispers were not whispers, but songs,
stitched into the fabric of the void,
notes floating absence, presence, forgotten.
Wander deeper into the silence,
feel the silent galaxies spill over,
time tangled within and without,
where story meets the edge of itself.