Beneath the cobalt ether, Javier pondered. The individual stars flickered like data points on a horizon wide and eternal, each a whisper of the infinite connectedness.
"Do you see?", whispered a memory, echoed without body in the velvety night. A girl with hair spun silver, mirroring the constellations' geometry.
Amid galaxies fruit salad arrayed and nebulae like spilled inks over dark parchment, the cosmos sent intermittent pulses, arrows from the antiquated quiver of a forgotten god.
At times, the lines of constellations morphed like icebergs afloat astral waves, sentiment-driven coding of the topmost programmer of reality.
Suddenly, the questions surfaced in scattered arrays, an unformatted text seeking its place: "Are the stars a map or a diary?" "How many wishes have any been granted?" "What are soulmates in light years?"
Chaos gave structured thought wings, while galaxies rotated leisurely as if time had turned elderly.