There's something about the constellations that makes you wonder, right? It's like staring into a vast pool of possibilities, where each star has a story soaked in time. Yet, as we gaze, the tales seem to unravel, stitching phantom narratives into the cosmic fabric.
I remember the first moment under the stars, behind the old cabin, surrounded by the idle hum of crickets, placing trust in dubious myths. The night sky danced, shimmered, and at one point, it felt like it was falling apart, only to realign into a dazzling canvas of wishes and wanderers lost in space.
Wandering paths of light, or maybe they're paths made by our mind’s perception of trails, kind of like the highways of the sky... The abandoned constellations whisper secrets that seek earthen tombs. What did you think they meant, anyway? Beyond maps, beyond guiding ships and souls?
The ethereal promise of stars... like gasping embers in a forgotten hearth. Scattered, perhaps, but so precise in their chaotic breath, so ancient, they're currently residing in obsolescence—the universe’s own antiquated library.
And as you scroll through this terminal cosmology, remember sometimes it ponders back, reflecting not your future, but the fates of innumerable might-have-beens...