Across the miles of silent stars,
your voice, a siren's echo,
woven through the strands of fate,
through the cosmic veil.
Space is both vast and intimate,
and your whispers reach me,
disjointed yet clear,
like messages from a heart hidden in the void.
In the dance of dying stars,
I find your trace:
a spectral waltz,
a touch of the universe's breath.
Longing notes written in light,
painting the ether with desire.
Each silence speaks louder,
a passionate cry trapped in time.
Do the constellations sigh for us,
in their timeless embrace?