In the quiet night, the stars are like little dreams. Some shine, some flicker, and some are hidden behind clouds of what could have been. I often sit under this blanket of sky, letting my thoughts wander like lost sheep.
I once wished to fly, to touch the moon, or dance with the stars. But here I am, feet planted firmly on the ground, making maps in the sky of dreams I've spoken aloud but never chased.
There are constellations made of wishes, formed by the tears I never cried. Each one tells a story, not of battles won or lands discovered, but of paths untaken and the gentle whispers of longing.