We, the silence between stars, drift aimlessly through the whispers of darkness. Even amidst voids, a wisp of symphony resides. Thoughts are not spoken here; they flit like shadows, barely tangible.
In the exquisite nothingness, where time folds upon itself, a secret sonata plays. Its rhythmless beauty is woven from fabric sewn by the eternal hands, forever undiscovered.
We are but dreams of forgotten constellations; phantoms in an endlessly serene requiem. Listen closely to the absence, the unheard voices of an ancient lullaby croon softly to your soul.