Space is curved. The straight line a Euclidian fiction. The very fabric of space, the skin pulled in upon itself, Light follows this curvature. Nor is time the heartbeat of angels, as we once thought, but our own shaky construct.
The galaxies that we imagine to be real prove to be archaic images, things that once were. When we look into the heavens, we look back in time.
When the light of our star has traveled in one vast cosmic arc and returned to its source, we shall know ourselves.
In that dawning light will fail, the stars dim and flicker. Time itself will falter and the voices of angels will be heard.