In the void, where silence sings, mournful echoes interface with the eternity of starlight, fading.
What words remain when the outer shells strip away?
The possessions we clutch become stardust;
no fewer than whispers, hints of existence—dancing through the firmament, a ballet of obliteration.
Reflect upon the parallax of desire.
Were we not shaped in the furnace of celestial sorrow? Each pulse of our cosmos
cries with the frequency of impending demise; brief then unmade: twilight´s spectral promise.
As singularity beckons, every particle feels its dilation.
Seek not the border of the end, but rather, embrace this fervent descent —
the inescapable doorway leading to nothingness.
Seek more mysteries beyond.
Blest is the transient light; Are we not all ash, merely contemplating the dance of our brilliance?
Conclusively, exhaustion lingers at the threshold. What revelation lies ahead but the shadow of a fleeting commodore twinkling in pale reverie.
What precedes the final sigh? Know well the joy of being wrapped within the collapse.
Tread softly as you wander to the realms of after.