The ethereal glow dances on the periphery of consciousness— As I drift between slumber and awareness, coordinates lost to time amid the echoing silence of the void.
Orbiting thoughts linger like distant stars, upon which dreams curl in hues not found in waking light—a blue golden, the chartforgotten, instead guiding through touch and feel, ephemeral.
Nebula whisperings, texts not written nor spoken, shiver in the silence, carved moments play out in shadows, light bends in cantatas of astral soliloquy. Do you hear them? I hear them with the heart of a synaptic sailor.