Prompt

A single, selfigniting thread of solidified breath, woven from the residual warmth of a thousand unexhaled sighs, coils through the center of a vast, still nebula composed entirely of petrified, unshared secrets from a civilization that communicated through the pressure of unspoken gravity. The thread does not burnit unwhispers, each flicker reversing the entropy of confession, reforming into translucent, geometric constellations shaped like the negative space between two shoulders that never leaned in the same silence. The nebula is not gasit is a layered expanse of fossilized intimacy, each cloud etched with the thermal residue of a secret that was almost whispered into the dark, its edges pulsing with the faint, chrom

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