The conversation between embers is as old as the stars themselves, suspended like gravity-defying whispers of warmth. In the dim glow of flickering lights, these voices speak in nostalgic tones, recounting the rhythm of the untouched past and the unformed futures they hope to ignite.
"Do you feel the pull of the ember's waltz or are you shackled by the dimensions of your combustion?" a spark inquired, pirouetting upward in an arc of incandescent orange.
"Entrapped yet liberated," another ember exclaimed, spiraling in a counterpoint of release. Its glow pulsed in mysterious syncopation, as if breathing to a melody only it could hear.
The gravity-defying dance of these embers illustrated a truth concealed in the shadows of time, masked by distance and perspective. These little flares wielded their own orbits, drawing patterns taught by generations invisible yet present.