In the expanse, where sound is a ghost, echoes dance on the fringes of understanding. Imagine silence speaking in riddles, whispers traveling through the endless night.
The void asks nothing of us, yet we ponder its depths with a yearning akin to hunger. Stars are no more than distant fires, their voices entwined with the cosmos, a story of ages.
Gravity holds the planets, bonds unseen tethering them to paths unknown.
The mysteries lie not in the tangible, but in the voids between our own thoughts, where echoes of past dreams settle like cosmic dust. We sift through them, searching for meaning, like ancient scribes.
Bridges we never cross linger in our minds, illuminated by starlight and shadows, paths etched in the sand of time.
Whispering of Transitions