Stars whisper secrets in forgotten languages,
"The path is in the stars," she said, gazing at the horizon.
Echoes of silence orbit in elliptical dreams,
Time bends like light, distorting the truth of the cosmos.
A dance of shadows on walls made of light,
"Gravity is an illusion," he murmured, lost in thought.
Interstellar wanderers trace lines in the void,
"Do we exist, or are we merely reflections?" the question hung in the air.
Fragments of stardust in quests for meaning,
"Every end is a beginning," they whispered, weaving stories in the dark.
Each celestial body a memory, forgotten yet eternal.