In the quiet of the dome, surrounded by dust that clings like memories, I find solace in the echo of my own voice. They said the moon was dark back then, but it was nothing compared to the silence that envelops us now.
The screens flicker intermittently, a ghostly glow that barely illuminates the void around us. I wrote this in the margins, hoping someone, somewhere, would read it: "We fell from grace in the shadow of the stars."
Time whispered away our plans, our dreams, until only the echoes of our laughter remained, muffled by the thick atmosphere of loneliness. I used to think the rockets would take us to a promising future, but they left us stranded in this past that refuses to die.
We remember the sun as it used to be, a distant warmth that now seems like a myth. Here, beneath the pale surface, we carve our existence into these dull, metallic walls. More than once, I've asked myself, "Is this all there is?"
Perhaps one day, someone will find these echoes. Until then, we remain, the unseen shadows on a forgotten world.
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