In the vast closet of the universe, where unspoken memories linger in folds of stardust, the nebula whispers tales older than silence. Each twinkle a laugh, each shadow a sigh, reaching through light-years to brush against the curious mind.
You peer into the cosmic void, witnessing movements of molten atmospheres—a dance of planets’ ghosts. They reflect upon you, a funhouse of mirrors carved by light bending in arcs unfamiliar and strains of gold.
The whispers pull threads from dreams—unraveled stories stitched by an astral needle.
Beneath the surface, colors pulse like heartbeat remnants of distant worlds.
Listen, and perhaps you’ll find the remnants of a song etched in comets’ trails.