You ever stop on a sunny day and watch how the dust behaves? It's like each particle has its little hopes and dreams, a crusade in the air on its way down. Once, I swear I saw one waxy fragment doing a jive, shimmying its way through the particle dance floor as if there was a celestial waltz going on...
The other day, during one of those beautiful existential crises, I imagined choirs singing from the hindquarters of comets and echoes of stars whispering secrets we long forgot. They were there scribbling notes in constellations, giving us clues when we find time to look.
Navigate the void—listen to home's gentle echoes or perhaps follow the lonely waltz of a space dust speck.