The cosmos does not speak in our small words, yet every atom hums the same original song.
Look up. You are not looking at it — you are the cosmos looking back at itself, awake for a blink between two eternities. cosmors
It could be a typo or a creative term.
We are its dream for an instant: stardust remembering itself. The cosmos does not speak in our small
In the cathedral of night, no roof but scattered light — galaxies spiral like breath from the mouth of silence. cosmors
The cosmos does not speak in our small words, yet every atom hums the same original song.
Look up. You are not looking at it — you are the cosmos looking back at itself, awake for a blink between two eternities.
It could be a typo or a creative term.
We are its dream for an instant: stardust remembering itself.
In the cathedral of night, no roof but scattered light — galaxies spiral like breath from the mouth of silence.