Whispers crawl the midnight canvas, stitched beneath auroral seams, a forgotten voice crackling between stitches of silver and ether. Knots of gaseous nostalgia cradle fragments of ancient echoes, where words go to slumber beneath celestial tides.
Inhabitants of constellations, bearers of mute hymnals, drift from peripheries unknown, past confines of shrinking visions. Some beneath tempest clouds, a riddle uncalculated stands, beneath them, arcs trace tribulations silently vibrant.
Stellar whispers kiss the void, their gentle minds swallowed by grace; and thus, the void pulses white, to browns that speak standout memories. These echoes are cosmonauts studying water rocks softly radiated away from the peripheries of carvings knowing long arcs brand newest voices.