Have you ever felt the warmth of a falling star? Not the kind that heralds wishes, but those that whisper secrets of the cosmos as they drift to earth. The kind painted by twilight's brush, where the horizon stitches its last threads of gold and crimson.
I was out on the coast, you know, one of those sleepy places where time forgets to run. The kind of place where the sea tells you things if you listen long enough. And as I stood there, the stars began to descend, one by one, like old friends wading into the surf.
These weren't your average night-sky orbs; they were the forbidden ones, spilling ancient tales. I leaned closer, aiming to catch their murmured melodies, hoping the waves would serve as a bridge between the heavens and my soul.
Sometimes, I wonder if we cast shadows on the stars, footprints in the constellations. Perhaps they blink in Morse code, calling for a rendezvous beyond time and space. What if our dreams are simply echoes of their forgotten songs?
So, next time you see a falling star, pause. Imagine it curling around your heart before it hits the ground, leaving a little piece of eternity nestled in your chest. And remember, there's always a conversation happening above us, scripted by the tides of time.
Let the rivers have their say, too.