Nebula Shift

"Do you feel that?" whispered the cosmic wind, brushing against the fragments of thought scattered across the star-clustered sea. Cells of light blinked, each a sigh from distant friends.

A memory whispered: "When Jupiter spoke, the moons listened, their orbits altered, colliding dreams and echoings of past silences."

Signals hampered by voids, eternal-but-ephemeral transmissions:
"I am here... No, wait, there? Beyond Orion's gaze?"

Threads woven in the dust of supernova, the universe weaving with an indifferent hand.

Telepathic grasp of shadows: an echo answered:
"The shift is nearing... it calls us to parallel yet diverging paths."