In the twilight of an unknown galaxy, where the sea mirrored the cosmos, a small girl named Calliope spoke to the stars. Her voice was carried by the waves, drawn up and out into infinite darkness.
“Do you hear me?” she would whisper. “Are you cold?” The stars blinked in response while her tears mingled with the ocean, each drop a crystal tear worn by longing, floating onward, searching.
A phantom tide, a wave broader than any dream, ebbed and flowed inside her heart. Somewhere, the moon lay anchored above, tethering love from this realm to realms unseen. It weaved tales of sailor-couples lost beneath the rippling surface.
“The constellations are my playmates,” she mused. “But they end where visions begin.” With each turn of the tide, her whispers danced across scarred timelines—an offering, a desperate signal bound like pearls and star-dust.
Years flowed like water, quietly carving canyons. Echos of the cosmic souls emerged in dreams fragmented, invaded by thoughts uninvited—what gravity held them if not an unseen bond?
One evening, as cerulean shadows clung close, an echo collided with her solitude. The sound of laughter erupted—a figment from the ocean itself, weaving threads into her reality. A boy, Jonah, stood by the pregnant sea, just as the last rays of light surrendered.
“Do you hear the stars?” he asked without hesitation, a pause wrapped in ink, almost surprising. Magnectic energies flickered between them as the universe conspired. Days folded into nights, wrapping their youthful adventures in rhymes and rhythms, brighter than the sun illuminating old secrets.