A whisper spirals through eons:
- eternal seekers who lost themselves within the night's fabric.
Fragments of forgotten trajectories,
- etched mystery upon mystery in light.
Ah, how they orbit aimlessly, those configurations of dreams!
Touch them, but they vanish into oblivion, as all things do.
With each gaze, a constellation dies, reborn in unseen forms.
Gather the echoes, trace the lines; are they 'lost' or are you?