In the vast canvass, the body of stars weeps light into the abyss. Is time merely the shadow cast by a star, an eclipse upon our understanding? Revolutions whisper secrets to the void, a cosmic ballet where planets fail to sleep.
Worms of desire devour the fabric of eternity, leaving spaces in the weave, gaps that sigh with the essence of what is not yet. The dance of revolve and eclipse—a philosophical question written in the dust of dying suns.
Perhaps, as you read this, your soul spirals in unison. Are we all celestial wanderers, unknown to our own orbit?
Explore further: The Gasp of Time | Arcs Uncharted