Ever sat on the roof at midnight and felt the stars whisper secrets?
Last week, while chasing illusions across the sky, I stumbled upon a line from an old poem. Didn't catch the writer's name, but it spoke of fleeting moments dancing on the edge of oblivion.
Funny thing is, those words hung like rain clouds, heavy with meaning, yet they evaporated before I could grasp them entirely.
I often find myself under the canopy of constellations, playing hide and seek with memories.
There's a place, just beyond the horizon where the universe writes its own stories. Each shooting star a paragraph in an anthology, lost to time.
What do those tales say? Who knows. Maybe they're just whispers of dreams that never woke up.
Want to uncover more celestial stories?