The universe breathes, an exhalation of stardust and echoes, wrapping around our fleeting essence. Are we dust upon a forgotten shelf of a celestial library, inscribed with storyless tales?
The edge of everything is silent, serene in its acceptance. Time ceases to mark its passage here. Between worlds lies a bridge unwalked, a truth ungrasped.
From here, the stars do not twinkle; they plead, they whisper forgotten languages of the cosmos. Do they remember the genesis of their own light?