Underneath the ancient stars, where time flows backward, I remember the sound of crimson rain.
The lullaby sung by invisible orbs, floating softly in a galactic sea of soot and threads.
Once, I tread upon the paths of forsaken clocks, around which forgotten whispers wound.
A dance of shadows knitting dreams with threads of silver moonlight, never seen, always known.
Between waking and sleep, the quasar pulses—a heart without a body, a flame without a source.
I left a message in the sands of cosmic shores, but the winds read it, then swallowed the truth whole.