"Ever felt the pull, the lovely tug of distant quasars singing your name?"
Like they're whispering secrets only spacetime knows.
The stars feel like old friends sometimes.
Cooling cups of stardust tea, contemplating.
"Time is an illusion," she'd said.
Seems reality agrees, bending to fit the heart's desires.
So much wandering. So much wonder. Can one ever truly finish the wanderlust?