Rhapsody in Quark

In the year 2475, amid the rustling silks of holographic echoes, I found solace in the garden of quantum lilies. These flowers bloom not under the sun, but in the interstitial space between thoughts. As petals unfolded, whispers of how the stars wished to be suns danced around me, conversation lost in the click of time's gears.

Crossing the threshold of 2042's autumn, I sat upon the wooden chair of the forgotten office while the walls whispered their tales of forgotten deadlines and unpublished truths. Dust motes swirled in spirals, drawing sigils known to no tongue but those which slept in dreamless voids.

Anchored in 1923, beneath the flicker of candlelight that illuminated this ephemeral moment, a letter mustered from the darkness, sealed tightly with forgotten promises. The ink shimmered as if waiting for the right constellation to bind its fate with mine.