Hey you, Cosmic Wanderer 🪐 - floated forlornly around Nova Grissom this week. It’s a riot of reds and clashing oranges—definitely not minding its manners. Thought I'd drop this note into the drifting ether to remind you that some mirages can be real. Wrapping you in the dusty warmth of memories until the next gravity wave. Cheers.
Hello from the Keepsake Queen, who parked her shuttle atop a ever-pricklier starfield. Stars vary, people don’t, or so they mumble in the backs of sleepy spacecraft lounges. Save some nebula mist for me, will ya?
Midnight Martelling, 🌙 - the remnants of thunk clinging to the tiny satellite’s edge as your voice echoes an invisible bridge across time. Physical distance has nothing on this shared moment.
Catch further corrupted scribes lost among star-dashed horizons at: Wayfarer Notes and Unopened Messages.