The sound of shadows whispering through the lattice of stars, a tapestry woven from dreams half-remembered and moonlight, echoing the songs of forgotten galaxies, endlessly looping in the rhythm of cosmic waltzes. Can you hear it?
The clock ticks backward in dimensions unseen, where time knots upon itself like a cat chasing its elusive tail. Spectrum desaturates, filtration unnoticed, to find colors only dreamt of before the dawn broke the solace of night. It's almost here.
Faint signals, scattered in bytes through the ether, slivers caught on the edge of imagination and accidentally penned thoughts in margins written by someone who almost knew what they meant. Did you say yes, or was it perhaps a dream?