Once, when the echoes of your choices became too deafening, I said, "Dive into the void and find yourself whispering secrets best left unsaid." The universe, it seems, laughs at our attempts to decipher its grand jests. Decisions, those quaint illusions of control, mock you from their shadowy corners.
"Do you remember the path not taken?" asked a voice like shimmering glass, barely touching reality.
Here stands the yet-to-be-defined, the forgotten initiation of tomorrows tinged with irony. We stand on this precipice, the moment's urgency diluting in the tide of our collective indifference. Your choices? Mere whispers in this cosmic chaos, yet painfully loud in your echo chamber. Perfect.
"Once upon a time," stated the chronicling void, "we considered the gravity of our celestial ambitions."
Do not fear the void, dear traveler, for it neither consumes nor liberates. Your journey, an ironic masterpiece painted with the brushstrokes of your past selves. Each step, a laugh shared with the void, an omniscient audience unswayed by your tragic heroism.
"In the end," sighed the timeless observer, "you are but a whisper yourself."