An echo avoids the curvature, slips through the net of stardust, and settles into a vacant lull. Celestial bodies whisper cosmic secrets, woven in strands of time and wrapped in twilight silk.
Among the folds of galaxies, where light bends into shadows, the asteroids compose symphonies of solitude. An astral piano plays a nocturne beneath the nebula’s breath.
We are the travelers on the spiral arms, voyagers among the scattered luminous grains of a universal sand, tracing orbits of forgotten futures.