Ever heard the whispers in the breeze? Like echoes of long-forgotten ceremonies, brushing against your skin as you stroll under the open sky. Sometimes, it's as if the air is a storyteller, recounting cosmic tales.
Signal 4321 from quadrant X: "I danced under the aurora, and I swear, the lights sang back." Origins unknown, but the melody echoes in memories untouched by time.
Have you walked through the invisible highways of the skies? Paths crisscrossing that somehow lead you back home, no map needed. Just follow the trails left by whispers.
Thoughts drifting amidst stars, tethered by gossamer threads of reality and dreams. They paint pictures across the universe, visible only to those who pause and look up.