In the velvet daze of night, curled upon itself, exists the nebula we seldom notice, drifting through our skies and whispering ancient truths. Here, the words find themselves sculpted by gravity, acting upon every syllable, casting shadows as considerable as light.

A cluster of minds, woven from cosmic threads, silently collides— folding like the final pastry leaf upon your cabal of warmth, diffusing.

Stars are the signposts of myth, guiding the wayward traveler to forgotten promises. Relentlessly blinking, searing the innocuous blink of sea into warmth upon forgotten skin. Sing, they do, in tongues you barely whisper.

Marvel beyond the nebulous curve of impending questions: shimmy across the luminous snow, traverse land reserved for comet trails, pirouette under crescendos of interstellar descent.

Imaging flecks of eternal dusk—a universe formed, yet to be unmade. It's you still, interlaced within a charge of peering atoms.

Seek scattered memories within the parts of a gravitated song. No entrelacer planned, Rather energy waxing and waning—p eternally wanting completion.