Beneath the immutable shroud, a whisper echoes through the chambers of forgotten time. Faceless shadows linger, weaving tapestry of emotions — a slide of souls. Gravity wells pulling at all anchor, ripping threads of certainty into the dusty constellations above.
Gaze upon the sky full of tears, perfect spheres dissolving into the abyss. They drip their luminous sorrow, soaking the insatiable void with quiet penance, silently craving release. An orchestra of supernovas — the dance of interstellar kin beyond our nocturnal grasp.
And we remain, anchored to whispers of lunar dreams, adrift in the ocean of ink and stars, forging surreal realities from echoes caught in voiceless nebulae. A paradox cradled tenderly; a universal sonnet without conclusion.
For every ascent, a descent; every pulse, a silence. An eternal now — the evernight cradles our fading dreams, wandering lost in temporal carousel.