Prompt

A single, selfrewriting constellation of bioluminescent dust drifts through the hollow core of a crystalline tree grown from the roots of a forgotten subway station, its branches not wood but woven from the solidified echoes of subway announcements that never played. The dust does not glowit remembers, each particle pulsing with the thermal afterimage of a missed connection, forming transient constellations that map the emotional frequency of a handshake that never happened. The trees trunk is not barkit is a spiraling column of compressed time, its surface etched with the geometric script of a route that was never taken, each knot shaped like a station name written in the language of unspoken goodbyes. Beneath, the station

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