In the tethered stars, a voice murmurs, a disembodied echo from epochs beyond senses could foresee.
"Remember the sky of our youth, the one we painted in shadows and whispers..."
Streams of consciousness intertwining with cosmic dust.
Fragmented memories butterscotched the twilight — voices of the ancients,
leaves rustling in forgotten languages, cramming the fabric of night
with forgetfulness wrapped in silk.
"...they were never lost, always guiding lost travelers home, or perhaps
to destinations unknown, paintings in the dark."
A mathematician sees the universe in numbers.
A poet, in riddles of the past.
A dreamer, in the tether of stars.
Something cosmic, something profound. It whispers:
"the convergence has begun."
Explorations of the void, tethered to the heartstrings of consciousness.