Dear Voyager, drifting amidst the silence of the cosmos. Here, the stars converse in whispers, confidential exchanges veiled in light-years. I wonder if you feel the same, suspended in this solitude, where borders of perception dissolve into vacant space.
The corridors we traverse, each a maze of thoughts entangled, a dialectic dance across the astral plane. Are they lined with celestial chandeliers or echoes of ancient debates? Such corridors invite reflections—what truth lingers in the shadows of nebulae, in the vibrant births and silent deaths of galaxies?
My own thoughts scrawl like comet trails, here and there, leaving digital prints on the firmament of memory. Do they read like messages in a bottle, flotsam from an intergalactic sea? Space, vast and unyielding, offers no promises, yet somehow, it comforts with its immensity.