In the void, where silence breathes its infinite serenade, a question lingers like the ghost of a forgotten star. What defines the limit of existence? Is it the ebbing echoes of time, or perhaps a breath that we shared under skies ablaze with the memory of suns?
Between nebulous threads and the worlds unseen, the stars murmur tales not of beginnings or ends, but of transitions. You inhale the cosmos through lightyears of solitude, understanding that the final breath is all-encompassing, uniting the singer to the silence of the universe.
A contemplation of cosmic nature, it asks us — do we see beyond? Or is our vision confined to the flicker of light that once was? As you ponder, your //existence intertwines with that of the stars, their stories echoing in the marrow of your bones.
What is memory but a constellation within the mind, a guide through the inky realms of forgotten abysses?
In the theatre of eternity, what role do we play, if not spectators of our own celestial drama?
And in the graveyard of asteroids, perhaps we find peace, a silent reminder of truth, and all the whispers in-between.