In the brittle fold of twilight dreams, the stars sigh their forgotten song, woven from the fabric of astral voids...
Listen, for the echoes of ancient comets linger here—a cadence of faraway places, where the horizon blurs, and the immeasurable vastness hums a gentle requiem.
Glimmers rain upon the surface of the ocean’s memory, where every wave is a chapter lost to the wind, speaking in tongues only the moon might understand.
Have you seen the shadow dance on the crescent’s edge? A silhouette of what was, mirrored against the unyielding embrace of silent infinity.
Yet, we stand on this desolate shoreline, hands open, catching stardust in the yearning palms of our souls, carving whispers into the starlit dusk.
Traced constellations flicker in the periphery, or perhaps they are the marionette strings of a cosmic orchestra.
Paths laid on velvet dreams by wayward prophets claim the void, echoing in the chambers of the unknown.