Do you hear them? The whispers in the void. The softly echoing tales that speak in trailing constellations, holding secrets only legible to those who dare to dream in infinite hues.
Imagine a conversation where words dissolve cautiously into palatable silence. Where meaning pirouettes in undulating starlight, and the nebulas hum lullabies woven from lightyears.
"Hey," the silence might start, entreating ears lined with cosmic dust.
The syntax is complex yet fluid, a dance of quantum slumbers. Perhaps even the syntax represents a grammar—one made of pauses between elder stars.
Oh, it’s casual, alright. Like a chat between painted moons resting on skies, or sunbeams teasing the edges of dawn. A dialogue, forgiving and wise, written in the lexicon of infinity.
Murmurs of the Celestial Path