Stars, you see, whisper in tongues we've forgotten,
their orbits tracing unspoken letters across the night.
How does it feel, to be a dust grain in an endless dance?
Perhaps we've answered that through our wandering dreams.

Once, in the crevices of a mind nestled in sand,
I found a word etched so deeply it sighed when touched—
a testament to journeys not taken, roads closed,
yet underfoot they warm like ancient hearths.

Is it so strange to feel a connection,
a tether to something afar, unreal,
yet so vividly near in imagination transformed?
serenade_of_shadows.html awaits.