In the depths where echoes lose their voice, silence spins in geometric intricacies.
Fractal identities, a whisper of the cosmos, reflect the soul's quiet revolution.
Infinity is a canvas painted black, each stroke a paradox.
The pulse of the void—calm, chaotic, perpetually serene.
Do the stars sleep when they die, or is a void merely a forgotten song?
tiny universessilent resonances
the edges of harmony