In the starlit quiet, a name echoes—perhaps it was Julia, or Anna? The sound both foreign and familiar.
Stars blink in coded language, a dialogue woven through the fabric of space and time. Were they ours to name, those celestial bodies with no borders, no past?
An old photograph surfaced today—a girl's laugh preserved in sepia, holding a star like it's the last of its kind.
Do you remember the fair where they sold constellations? We bought a piece of the night sky, a canvas specked with possibilities.
A bell rings—a sound not heard by many, an invitation to forgotten spaces. Moss-covered paths beneath ancient trees, where the air holds secrets of the universe.
Somewhere, a child hums a tune under the twilight's soft embrace. It's a melody that seems to bend time, allowing past and present to blur.
Registry of souls, of starry-eyed wanderers searching for home in unfamiliar skies. Is there peace in their searching?