A whisper of color spills through the fissures of night, pulse...
In the boundless caverns beneath the flickering stars, pulse...
Where the echo of forgotten joys churns, an ocean of echoes, yet untouched.
Here lies the essence, distilled from the dew of a thousand dreams, pulse...
Fragile threads weave a tapestry of shadows, the loom forgotten, weave again?
Silence sings, an errant tune in the wilderness of thought, riding the winds, pulse.
Between the sectors, a journey unfolds, each step a sector of time, each breath a world.
Awash in the moon's muted glow, beneath the surface surface of reality...
The clock ticks, but time is a mere illusion, a pulse of consciousness adrift.