The cosmos is a tapestry of whispers, woven silently across the void,
each thread a star, each star an echo of dreams unheard. Embrace the silent song,
for it is the voice of the echo, telling tales of time untouched.
Do galaxies know longing, or do they simply dance
in the perpetual waltz of existence?
The universe softly murmurs, a whisper in the lung of eternity.
Constellations are memories carved in starlight,
echoes of ancient laughter washed over the void.
Listen, as planets hum their gentle dirge,
melodies lost in the endless desert of the night.
Twilight, a dream upon a celestial canvas,
paints the silence with symphonies of light.
Echoes are the wanderers, traveling through
time’s echo chamber, seeking resonance.
In the cosmic silence, a heart beats,
not of flesh, but of cosmos, daring to dream.
Listen to the echoes, for they are the songbirds,
of a universe waiting to sing.