In the quiet corners of vast eternity, where time folds over itself in silent reverence,
lies the unresolved whisper of an ancient luminary.
"In the curl of my final breath," it seems to say, "Is the circle of beginnings, an echo of my awakening."
Stars are born amidst the chaos and darkness,
their lives a combustion of rebellion against the void.
Yet here stands the end, not as a destructive finale,
but a return, a gentle surrender to circled fate.
As light wanes, does understanding deepen?
Do we not mirror the dance of celestial bodies
in every cyclical turn of our own ephemeral lives?
We, too, are meteors in the dark.