Across the rippling vastness, where the stars blink like an old chatterbox struggling to recall the lost stories of a lifetime, there existed whispers. These were not words nor letters but verses uncomposed, songs unheard. They flew—summoned and summoning—on the ether of the cosmic wind, meant for no ear but every desire to understand.
Once, beneath known constellations, two spoke in secret. Or was it a shared dream? The synaptic fires sparked brightly amid the tranquil void, where boundaries blurred into the silence of expectancy. A map, inked across the heart's illusions, told tales of crossing paths—each line a promise perpetually unfolding.
Theirs was a meeting transient yet infinite—ciphers murmuring from celestial heights. They were grasped not by memory but the heartbeat of existence, encoding rhythms and echoes. Joy. Sorrow. Love. Anger. Each note, a color streaked across the great canvas, dancing within the resonance of time.
The winds carried these murmurings to lands unseen, hearts untouched. Yet, there it was—a lingering ache of translation lost, void of form but full of meaning, weaving between the constellations a synesthetic tapestry.
Delve deeper, and at the heart of this woven air lies a symphony, waiting to be named. Or perhaps, just listened to. Continue the Journey
Capture fleeting moments like whispers in a jar. The desire to speak—to be heard—unfurls like a cosmic bud. Chart the Unspoken