Through the lens of infinite vistas, the stars whisper tales of old—echoes diminished by lightyears, but potent still. What are we, but dust woven into light and shadow, contemplating itself amidst the cosmic weave?
As comets trace their ephemeral arcs, we ponder our own trajectories. Are we guided by unseen forces, or is our path self-forged in the fires of intentionality? The universe, in its graceful flourish, encourages questions rather than answers.
In the boundless embrace of night, where stars roam free and nebulas cradle the unborn, a single truth murmers: to exist is to wander the labyrinth of existence, seeking the soul's forgotten origins in stellar reminiscence.