In the vast nebula of thought,
where self-discovery dances with cosmic dust,
let the energy within unfold,
a whisper amongst the stars.
What is a universe but an echo,
of cellular whispers,
crafting galaxies from fragments,
the mind strewn across the darkened void?
We are but celestial bodies in orbit;
identities tethered by gravitational pull
towards the unseen, the unknown
yet intimately self.