"Do the stars sing to sleeper's thoughts or merely echo their voided songs?"
"Control, they say, is only illusion when the moon dances beneath." A pause. Breath. Then silence.
The clock ticked out of reality's grasp, its hands folding within the time-laden dreamscape.
"What is a night without its constellation of thoughts, roaming free?"
Faint vibrations of liberated echoes. Searching. Always searching...