The whispers of wandering stars trace their origins in you. Somewhere, between the cosmic dust and stardust dreams, I find the reflection of who I was—and who I am becoming.
Voices bouncing, refracting through-dark voids. Count the echoes, they say, but each counts less than the heart's undertow.
In these astral mirrors, you see not yourself, but all selves; a tapestry of choices and chances, unraveling in endless repetition.
The light of ancient celestial bodies indulge secrets untold, caressing past lives and fragmented souls with echoes of the other.