Whimsical Echoes in the Void

Space scattered; thoughts forgotten. Through dim constellations, lies unfold, familiar yet caustic. Silence coils around these empty orbits.

Last whisper fading. Trinkles trail, existence lightly brushing the edge of reality. Specimens of shadows dance in the human gaze, suggestive imitations of origin.

Truths morph under velvet skies; not constellations, but fragmented promises. Reality doesn’t hold, and the soul knows freedom’s absence.