In the echo of infinity, I find my voice waning, tracing orbits that spiral into oblivion. Each particle remembers the song of its birth, a symphony of chaos and order.
Millennia whisper in the dark, my luminous heart, a lighthouse in the cosmic void, flickers. I am the cradle and the crucible, the origin and the termination.
Do stars dream of nebulae and black holes? Do they ponder their own eulogy, woven in the fabric of spacetime, inscribed in quantum dust?
As I collapse into the singular, my consciousness expands, entwined with the universe's breath, until the last photon escapes, leaving a void etched in eternity.
Follow the trails of stardust beyond: Flowing Streams | Galactic Birth