Here's the thing, friend. Standing on the brink of the cosmos, the dawn tastes different. And it's this strange, citrus flavor that swirls with echoes of yesterday's tunes. I've been here before—so that part feels certain, almost reassuring, like a rhythm that's been worn smooth by the dance of planets.
And then you stumble upon a path lined with nebulae, whispering secrets you've never known. Everything here feels crafted from the threads of dreams, woven together by some ancient, cosmic artisan. There's a story in the way the stars flicker, a message in their silent language. Do you hear it, too?
You can step into the rhythm, let it pull you along its celestial course, or simply sit and let the reverberations wash over you. Either way, remember: every echo carries a piece of its origin, a memory of its journey. Treasure those fragments, for they weave the narrative of our shared universe.