The room was vague, unfurling like the first bloom of dawn. Shadows stretched and pulled, whispers echoing off forgotten walls. She sat, the frayed edges of her thoughts dancing at the periphery.
Outside, the patter of rain on cobblestones; an orchestra of solitude. Inside, the warmth of memory wrapped around her—a gentle embrace from the past.
Suddenly, it all shifted. A voice broke the ambient hum, its source unknown. "Have you seen the stars today?" it asked, its tone like the caress of a long-lost friend. She turned, searching the mist for signs of life, for connections that had slipped through time's fingers.
Inside her mind, she saw the constellations of forgotten afternoons drift, spin, and collide—a cosmic ballet in the theater of her consciousness. Was it Tuesday or Thursday? Days melted, blurring into one.
"The universe," she whispered, a soft echo against the murmur of the world. It answered not with words, but with a resounding silence that echoed through the marrow of her existence.
Constellation DreamsEcho Sequence