Ever find yourself in a place where vibrations echo but sound is lost? That’s where the whispered notes go — they linger like unspoken promises, shaping tales of stars and shadows. When the void sings, it doesn’t require an audience.
Imagine a grand opera performed with the heat of distant galaxies, each movement a dance of constellations painting skies in their gentle, muted chaos. And in the end, even those black hole arias remain untouched, unsung to souls adrift among timeless bounds.
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