She bowed her head, not in silence, but in song. The stars leaned closer to listen, planets stilled their endless spin, and comets paused mid-flight, as if her whisper held the secret rhythm of the cosmos.
Her crown of colors glimmered like petals spun from galaxies, each one carrying a memory of sunrises never seen and dreams yet to be dreamed. She did not pray with words, but with light—soft, radiant, unending—woven into the fabric of night itself.
And the universe, in return, seemed to hum back: you are heard.
She bowed her head, not in silence, but in song. The stars leaned closer to listen, planets stilled their endless spin, and comets paused mid-flight, as if her whisper held the secret rhythm of the cosmos.
Her crown of colors glimmered like petals spun from galaxies, each one carrying a memory of sunrises never seen and dreams yet to be dreamed. She did not pray with words, but with light—soft, radiant, unending—woven into the fabric of night itself.
And the universe, in return, seemed to hum back: you are heard.
