Under the nebulous expanse of a star-laden night sky, where fragments of ages past whisper through the silence, an old radio crackles with stories untold.
In an apartment flattened under the weight of forgotten relics, a lonely figure hunched by a flickering bulb recalls grainy transmissions from another world—possibly familiar, but unmistakably estranged.
The voice, softened by temporal displacement, speaks of a day when the sun stood still on the horizon—an event wrapped in myth yet heavy with sense. They ponder the significance, like shadows cast by starlight that fade just as quickly as they form.
Above the neon haze of a city restless in its solitude, vehicles mumble their tales along the suited lanes, tracing paths drawn in an invisible ink.
Across distant shores, under the same cloistered canopy of constellations, an untraveled whisper journeys through untold spans. It speaks of roots unearthed yet planted anew, a legacy written not in stone but in fleeting echoes.
The starlight, indifferent and eternal, carries their stories—a cosmic anthology of yearning and awakening.