The low hum, an echo of forgotten galaxies, converges upon the mind. Each grain, suspended in the void, holds the key to ancient musings. The stardust falls not upon the earth, but within the soul's etched archipelagos.
In the silent chirps of celestial interference, a hermit sits. Wrapped in layers of cosmic whispers, their mantra becomes a symphony of electrical manifestations. Did the stars speak, or was it the tongue of silence that made them dance?
Within the ambient murmur of space's faceless void, truths shimmer brighter than compact constellations. A nebulous thought wanders untethered, unraveling the silence in cascading cries of electric echoes.