Under a sun that never sleeps, dreams bloom like lotus blossoms in turquoise lagoons, a symphony of impossible colors aglow with fireflies and stardust. Cicadas weave a drowsy symphony through leaves that shimmer like emeralds in the haze. In this realm of endless summer, even shadows melt into pools of golden honey, whispering promises of forever afternoons.
As stardust weaves through willow boughs
a melody of healing swells -
and, like moondrops blooming in the dark,
climbs into the crevices of broken hearts.
And in this place where music mends
and dreams unfurl like silken wings,
the stardust whispers promises -
of healing light and hope that sings.
The veil thinned, a nothing-thing woven from stardust and whispers of forgotten lullabies. Searing light, not of searing pain, but of searing possibility, pulsed through the other-place, painting streaks of hope across the firmament. A symphony of starlight hummed the secrets of the cosmos, each note a promise etched in the constellations, if only she could hear them. In that luminous embrace, that single earthly second, mortality shed from her like a second skin, and she surrendered to the immensity of forever.
She closes her eyes, inhaling the frigid air that tastes of stardust and nascent worlds. The song washes over her, a chorus of newborn galaxies and collapsing stars, the lullaby of the cosmos sung in tongues older than time. Each note vibrates through her core, an echo of the fire that birthed the universe, a whisper of the secrets the first suns breathed into the void.
In that celestial lullaby, she hears the stories of everything that ever was and might be. The birth pangs of black holes, the lullabies of neutron stars cradling infant planets, the dirges of supernovae painting the heavens with fiery crescendos. It's a song of endless becoming, a tapestry woven from the threads of time itself.
And as she listens, she feels herself woven into the fabric of the universe, a single note in the grand symphony of existence. The frost that clung to her melts, replaced by a warmth that radiates from within, a spark of the same fire that gave birth to the stars. From within the song of the cosmos, she hears not just the echoes of eternity, but the melody of her own being, a whisper of stardust made flesh, singing its own verse in the grand chorus of creation.
And then just as spectacularly as it began, it goes black, and she remembers only that faintest echo of that sweet, eternal, song - and she is left with only a perfect longing.
