There it begins, the galaxy's silent tale, not of triumphant stars nor of celestial dust in gory battles, but a whisper, laced through the voids and vacuums of complex spaces.
On evenings when light grazes the edges of infinite, I lean out, ears aimed at quite particular ripples, vexing descriptions and dreams in nocturnal prose.
Dreamscapes hum faint alignments, numeral inscriptions held by gravity’s unnoticed thread - a lattice of dissonance, bridging harmonicals with unlikely symphonies.
Sunrise Plans Chronicle of Dust Paradox of Choices