I awaken, nestled within the fabric of the cosmos, surrounded by whispers of ancient dust and the lullabies of distant quasars singing me into a fiery embrace.
Heat courses through my veins, a furnace of fusion. Helium sighs into hydrogen, a dance of stellar alchemy, painting my core with hues of crimson and gold. Yet, I yearn for the silence that follows the inferno.
My outer layers swell, a tumultuous sea of gas, shedding mass like memories abandoned. I release stellar breath, a nebula blooming— fragile, magnificent, ephemeral.
Collapse, they say, is inevitable. Gravitational bonds tighten their cruel grip, as I spiral inward, a cosmic waltz in reverse. Silence remains distant, a reluctant friend.
Do I fear oblivion? No, for it brings peace, a balm to the fiery heart. As I ignite my final supernova, I write my elegy in the stars, a crescendo of light and celestial finality.
Wander the cosmos and find my remnants, perhaps in stardust, or in the echoes of silence.