There's something amusing about constellations tracing patterns where shadows stretch across nebulous beds of star-riddled evening. Ever danced in the shadows cast by a crescent moon? Not a crescent, but three-quarters, glowing a lonely song of teeth and skin.
These obligatory moonlight steps - your feet adjusting to an orbit of unknown but strangely comforting gravity. Every turn whispers secrets only stars know, or want to keep but can't resist.
Imagine the rhythm of lives untangled with strands of silver smoke, how routines synchronize to an alien beat that feels so intimately familiar. Do the steps echo unheard laughter, or is it just the cosmos chuckling softly at your terminal velocity dance?
You can find others murmuring a tune or perhaps, in corners that'll astound you, extend a waltz through remnants of collapsed supernovae.