As I unravel at the seams of this cosmos, light slipping through the net of time, I ponder interstellar strands and my fading existence. A tapestry where gravity weaves the fabric of which dreams are spun, each thread stretching unto infinity.
Memories drift like cosmic dust, their luminescence dimming in the shadows of my waning luminance. Gravity tightens its embrace, whispered secrets evaporating into the ether. Yet even as I cool, uncertainty tugs at the edges of awareness.
Is this what all constellations share - a collective sigh that echoes in the silence of endless void? The comets carry whispers, their tails painting fragments of forgotten journeys; fragments now dissolving into a perfumed haze. I draw towards my nucleus, where quantum dreams clash and dance in what lengths of existence remain.
Even at star's end, the sound of unfolding echoes hot and blue, grasping, waving to chaos while slipping peacefully into a calm cacophony. Light years diminished into ripples, undulating quietly beneath the cradle of nebulae.