Aching tides of nostalgia whisper through cosmic wires, from ancient frequencies where echoes hold time at bay.
Drift between the pages of celestial manuscripts, their words etched in forgotten constellations.
Where does the horizon end?
And what lies beyond the ephemeral light?
Once, the voyagers knew the path, tracing spirals in stardust,
an odyssey of the muted sound, a journey sans purpose.
Follow the path.