It's funny, isn't it? The way stars seem to whisper secrets only you can hear. I remember the nights on the old porch, half-broken swing creaking under the weight of dreams too large to fit in your pockets. We’d lie back, eyes glued to the endless canvas, hear echoes of forgotten constellations.
Ever heard the story of the Urgus constellation? Supposedly, its patterns tell when the tides of memories shift. Never thought I’d see it myself, but there it was – a quiet dance of light, flickering like a candle in an autumn breeze.
Then there’s the Silver Line, a streak across the Milky Way that only appears during nostalgia’s peak hour. Perfect accompaniment for star-gazing, don't you think? Sometimes, when the night gets particularly clear, you can almost trace its path with your finger, like drawing a line in soft, celestial sand.
And speaking of stars, have you ever tried counting them? It starts like a challenge, but soon transforms into a meditation. Each flicker an unresolved chapter, each constellation a forgotten melody. They twinkle just for you, in that moment. A cosmic serenade.
Sometimes I wish I could bottle up those whispers, keep them safe for stormy nights when the ground feels too real. Wrap them in words, maybe. Spin them into stories like old grandmothers used to tell – tales of starry wanderers and skybound dreams.