There exists a tapestry woven from threads of ancient tomorrow, a fabric that hangs in the quietude of the cosmos. Shadows move in sequences unknown, but known only to the stars that simultaneously shine and vanish in the void.
The clock pauses on a moment, like a bead of dew on a spider’s web, whispering "soon" into an empty echo. In the hushed corridors of time, echoes of destiny call out, their voices a gentle breeze brushing against the silence.
On the brink of awareness, step lightly. The ground trembles with the weight of days yet to unfold, like a slumbering giant. Trust the path beneath your feet, for it is etched with the footprints of those who have walked before and those who will follow after.